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CIHM 
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ICIMH 

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tnicrofiches 
(monographies) 


Canadian  Instituta  for  Historical  MIcroraproductIon»  /  Institut  cahadian  da  microraproductiont  historiquas 


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Technical  and  Bibliographie  Notas  /  Notas  tachiiiquas  et  bibliographiques 


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J 


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.m.- 


24X 


28X 


32  X 


ue 


Th«  copy  filmad  har«  has  bean  raproducad  thanks 
to  tha  ganaroaity  of  : 

HarbM  Campbell  Vaughan  Mémorial  Library 
Acadia  Univenity. 


L'axamplaira  filmé  fut  raproduit  grflca  à  la 
généroaité  da: 

'  Harold  Campbell  Vaughan  Mémorial  Library 
Acadia  Univertity. 


Tha  imagaa  appaaring  hara  ara  tfia  baat  quality 
poaaibla  eonaidaring  tha  condition  and  lagibility 
of  tha  original  copy  and  in  kaaping  with  tha 
fltming  contract  jpaeificationa. 


Original  copiaa  In  printad  papër^covara  ara  filmad 
baginning  with  tha  front  covar  and  anding  on 
tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad  or  liiuatratad  Impraa- 
sion,  or  tha  back  covar  whan  appropriata.  Ali 
othar  original  copiaa  ara  filmad  baginning  on  tha 
first  paga  with  a  printad  or  liiuatratad  impraa- 
siori.  and  anding  on  tha  laat  paga  with  a  printad 
or  liiuatratad  impraaaion. 


Tha  laat  racordad  frama  on  aach  microfichà 
shail  contain  tha  syrtiboi  — ^(maaning  "CON^ 
TINUEO").  or  tha  sytnbol  V  (maaning  "END"), 
whichavar  appiiaa. 

Mapa,  piataa.s-^harts.  atc.,  may  ba  filmad  at 
diff arant  raduction  ratioa.  Thoaa  toc  larga  to  ba 
antiraiy  inciudad  in  ona  axpoaura  ara  filmad 
baginning  in  tha  uppar  laft  hand  comar.  laft  to 
right  and  top  to  bottom^  aa  many  framaa  aa 
raquirad.  Tha  foilowing  diagrama  illàatrato  thé 
mathod: 


Laa  Imagaa  auh/antaa  ont  été  raproduitaa  avac  la 
pitta  grand  soin,  compta  tanu  da  la  condition  at 
da  la  nanaté  da  l'axamplaira  filmé,  at  m 
conformité  avac  laa  conditiona  du  contrat  da 
filmaga. 

I.aa  axomplairaa  originaux  dont  la  couvartura  an 
papiar  aat  impriméa  sont  filméa  an  commançant  ° 
par  la  pramiar  plat  at  an  tarminant  soit  par  la 
damiéra  paga  qui  comporta  iina  amprainta 
d'Impraasion  ou  dllluatration.  soit  par  ia  sacond 
plat,  salon  la  eaa.  Toua  laa  autraa  axamplairaa 
originaux  sont  filméa  ix  commançant  par  la 
pramiéra  paga  qui  comporta  una  amprainta 
dimpraasion  ou  dllluatration  at  îan  tarmin«nt  par 
la  damiéra  paga  qui  comporta  una  faila 
amprainta. 

Un  daa  symboiaa  suivants  apparaîtra  sur  la 
damiéra  imàga  da  chaqua  microfichà.  saion  la 
caa:  la  symboia  — *•  signifia  "A  SUIVRE",  la 
symboia  ▼  signifia  "FIN". 

Laa  eartaa.  planchaa.  tabiaaux.  atc.  pauvant  étra 
filméa  à  daa  taux  da  réduction  différants! 
Loraqua  la  documant  aat  trop  grand  pour  ..étra 
raproduit  an  un  saul  cliché,  il  aat  filmé  à  partir 
da  l'angla  supériaur  gaucha.  da  gaucha  à  droita. 
at  da  haut  an  baa.  an  pranant  la  nombra 
d^inagaa  nécaaaaira.  Laa  diagrammaa  suivams 
iliuatrant  la  méthoda. 


1 

2     ' 

3 

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M//'-; 


POPULAR  N0VBL8. 

By  May  Agnes  Plemiiig. 

l.-Ginr  BABLSOOUBT'S  WIFE. 
2--A  WÔNDERFUL  WOMAN.       . 
8.— A  TBRBIBLB  SBCKBT. 
4._N0RÏNB'S  BEVBNOB. 
5.— A  MAD  MABEIAOB. 
6.-ONB  NIOHf  8  MYSTBRT. 
7.— KATB  DANTON.^^^ 
8.— 8ILBNT  ANÏ)  X^K  C^*^'^ 


ttaair  '«nthor  ta  Om  ▼««y 

AU  DubJrtiea  nnifonn  '»'*  *"»''*ïïî?rf  -t.-  k, 
O.  w.  OA«I.«»ON  é  OO.,  FmfclWfcwrn, 
ll«w  ¥*rlu  


Ji^Lutt    '   -  ï^flKtiiié^S''' 


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SILENT  AND  TRUE 


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A    LiTTLE    QÛEEN. 


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3^  iawï. 

>U^^AY  AGNES  ^FLEAÏING, 

AUTHOR    or 

Oinr  KARUCÔURT'S  WIFK,"  "a  WONDKRFUL  WOIIAN,"  "a  TERklBI  I 
SBCMT,"   "NORINE'S  REVKNGK.»    "a  M^D  >IArÏiaGJC" 
,         "ON«  «ICHT'S  MYSTKRY,"   ETC.  ' 

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woauuL" 
Washington  Ixram. 


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"       TO 

Miss,Katie   Russell 

THIS  OTHJSJt  "LITTLS  QUESS" 
i«  fit)>(<Bttfe. 


BROOKLYN. 


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CONTENTS. 

«     o                               CHAPTER  I.  '  ^^ 

Per  Steamer  Hesperia '**^ 

Lcipor.. ....<WAPT^  II. 

/                               CHAPTER  m. 
Lonéworih  of  the  PÂenix 'g 

I                                CHAPTER  IV. 
Th^  Story  of  the  Stone  House ;  e, 

.  L  .       .  CHAPTER  V. 

A /Point  of  Honor ,        ^ 

J  CHAPTER  VI. 

Grandmamma's  Granddaughters »_ gg 

/  CHAPTER  VII. 

Mrs.  Windsor  at  Home gg..   _  3. 

«*,  CHAPTER  VIII.  ^" 

Before *  o 

98 

M  w,         ^1.,.  CHAPTER  IX. 

Noblesse  Oblige. , „ 

. .  CHAPTER  X. 

After ^»^ 

•>•  •  •   139 

,.    ,,  CHAPTER  XI. 

Longworth's  Idyl 

' } '44 

CHAÎ>TER  XII. 
Délicate  Ground ^ 

u  A    .V    r.         ,         CHAPTER  XIII. 

"AstheQueen  Wills» , ,g- 

CHAPTER  XIV. 
The  Embarrassment  of  Riches..^ .« ,g^ 

CHAPTER  XV. 

«^    „,  "      CHAPTER  XVI. 

"theWooing  O't»., ^ 

'  '      '  /  *  *' 


\"^ 


^ 


viii  CONTENTS. 

CHAPTER  XVII. 
"  The  Very  Best  Thing  in  aU  the  World  " ««9 

CHAPTER  XVIÎI. 
M.Léonce  Durand •••• *45 

CHAPTER  XIX. 
«•  Sflent  and  True " : » '••^'  *57 

CHAPTER  XX. 
"  To  be  Wise,  and  Love,  Exceeds  Man's  Strength  " 270 

CHAPTER  XXL 
"The  Rivais •*.(... '-•• **9 

CHAPTER  XXII.  . 
"  The  Rivais  "—On  the  Stage  ànd  Off 305 

CHAPTER  XXin. 
By  the  Garden  WaU < 3^7 

CHAPTER  XXIV. 
Nightfall * • : 332 

CHAPTER   XXV. 
Two  in  the  Moming j  • • 344 

CHAPTER  XXVI. 
Another  Day  . .  ; ' 354 

CHAPTER  XXVII.           1 
Rtiine's  Knight • ' 3^5 

CHAPTER  XXVIII. 
Marie  Speaks 3»^ 

CHAPTER  XXIX. 
O'Sullivan  Spéaks ^^ 

CHAPTER    XXX. 
"  With  Emptied  Arms  and  Treasure  Lest  " 4'7 

CHAPTER  XXXP 
Durand ^'. . . .  .^  43 

CHAPTER    XXXn. 
"  Aftet  Lông.Grief  and  Pain  " .4 439 

^_  ~  châ^èrT  XXXm.^"~~     ^"    ~^r^ 

AForegone  Conclusion • 454 

•■■•^    '■'         ■        .-'■     ■    ■  '-^^ 


i« 


A  Little;  Queen. 


f* 


CHAPTER  I. 

PER  STEAMER   HÇSPERIA.     ' 

on  trust  and  tradmon,  a,  we  uke  so  many  thint,, 
we  would  «rtainly  never  ftid  it  out  for  ourselves 
Dropp,ng  down  on  the  dock,  amid  the  shivering  ,»IZ 
In       T5  fro«  son,e  other  planet,  let  „s  say,  L  S 

gusty  sobleak.fy  Chili  is  thi,  May  moming. 

The  Cunard  «eamer  wiU  goat  away  down  the  Mersev 
m  scnething  le.s  than  an  hour.  the  littfe.fussy,  p„ffi"gZ 
der  s  already  _wa,ting  for  her  pa»e„gers  and  luLge  and 
snomng  «ercely.  as.though  in  fie.y  Lpatience  If  *^  Ôff 
Ihere  «  the  customarycrowd.  cabmen  haggling  over  àrêl' 
po>^e„  shouldering  trunk,  and  boxes,  pZ„gL  hS 
wUdlyh,ther  and  thither.  or  ™„„„ti„g'Varf  „ver  S 
bdo„g,„gs,  ^riU  ,„i^„  ^^  de'per  tones  of  men 

there  «  an  dmmous  shorwhop,  and  litUe,  wicked  white  cap* 


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lO  PJER  STEAMER  HESPERIA.  \ 

brealcing  the  turbid  flow  of  the ,  river.      Xy   ail,  ai-ound,   ' 
fiom  every~quarter  of  the  compass  at  Once,  tl\ete  com^sud- 
den  bleak  blasts  that  Chili  to  the  niarrow  of  your  bones,  aqd 
set  you  shiverihg  an^  make  you  wrap  your  great  coat  or 
watefproof  about  your  shrinking^onii  ^ever  so  closeljr. 

Standing  a  little  apart,  if  there  be  any  apart  in  th.sjnad- 
ding  crowd,  leaning  easily  ^gainst  the  back  of  a  cab.  his 
hands  thru^t  deep  vn  his  pockets.  an  amused  look  m  his 
face,  is  a  young  mân.  A  solitary  large  trunk  beside  him, 
.  bearingon  its  canvas  back  the  big  black  initiais  K  D.. 
isevi^ntlyhis'onlyproperty;  a  vt^ry  large  and  lumbenng, 
Newfoundland  is  evidently  his  only  comp^niop. 

He  is  a  tall,  strongly-built,  square-should«|ed  young  fel- 
low.  of  perhaps.  three.and-twenty.  his  beardless  face  not  in 
the  slightest  degree  handsome  except  with  the  good  looks 
that  three-and-twenty  years'  perfect  healtti,  boundless  «ood- 
humor,  and  a  certain  boyish  brightness  gives.  He  )s  sun- 
burnedaiîd.niddy,  he  is  buttoned  ui^  in  a  shaggy  overcoat,. 
and  is  taking  Ufe  at  présent  wit)i  a  perfect  c(*3lness  that  is 
xefreshing  contrasted  with  th^wild  excitement  cjfp.cted  on 
most  of  the  jfaces  around  him^  V 

Fragments  of  ftvirried  c^vcrsation  reach  hun  on  ail  sides 
:,  as  heltands,  but  he  pa/s.n.   particular  heed  to  any,  until  a 
^     girl's  voice,  fresh  anitlear^but  in  accents  of  misery,  reaches 

his  ear.         ,    '     /  ,    r^  ■• '^      i  '•„     ;«  «. 

'^Mon  Dieu  //karie  !  "  cries  this  despairing  Voice,  ma 

.  composite  mixt^e  of  French  and  English,»  if  th^t  imbe(^e 

hasnot  carriid  off  my  box  again-     Her^,  ^qu  l "  a  frantic  1 1- 

I,     U^stamp/"  drop  that  directly.     It  is  mine,  I  tj^J^ou-    1  toW 

t  ^you  bef^,  stupide  l    Que  devons-nous  fatre,, Hi^rx^-- 

'"^    A  Zt  laugh  is  the  answer.     The  youûg  tnan  >turns.  roifticL 

and^ee  twô  young-ladi^  and  a  porter.     One  of  Jhe  70uqfe 

4^i^  seated  qiiietly  on  a  black  box^héother  is^stajidmg 


Sdledly,  trying  to  prevent  the  porter  from  carrjing  or» 
simUar  article  ofluggage,  and  trying  m  vain.  ,     ^ 


:i. 


i;' 


N 


^  \ 
r£X  STEAMÉI^  HESPRRIA. 


II 


The  ownef  of  the  dog,  with  the  impetuosity  of  three-and 
twenty,  instarttl^mes  to  the  rescue  of  beauty  in  bistres?. 

^'  Hi  I     I  say  ySa  !  drop  that,  wiU  yoà,"  be  cnes,  authori- 

J^ively,  and^he  î)oj-ter  yields  at  once  to^  the  impenous  mas- 

'  cuhne  voice  what  h|:  has  scorçecTto-yield  to  the  frantic  fem^ 

inme.     «  Don't  you  Want  your  luggage  taken  on  board  the 

|ender  ?.."  mquires  the  young  American  géhtleaian,  for^such 

his  accent  proclaims  him  to  be,  lifting  his  hat  to  the  #ing 

person  who  stands,  and  appears  so  greatly  èxercised  over  the 

fate  of  the  black  box. 

"Thanks,  monsieur,"  responds  the  young  lady  iho  has 
been  talkmg  French,Mn  pcrfect  English,  but  witii:a. musical^ 
accent,  «  this  is  the  second  time  that  stupid  man  has  tnsd  to 
cany  it  off  whether  or  nq,  Oh,  yes,  we  want.  our  luggage  to 
go  on  board,  but  the  captain,  our  very  good  friend,  has  told 
us  to  wait  hère  until  he  cornes."  "'^ 

"  I-see  him  coming  now,"  says  the^seCond  young  laiJy,  who 
has  a  vety  sweet  vpice  and  much  faintér  accent  thait^efirst 
«  Uok  yonder.  Petite;    Ah  !  he  has  stopjfcd  tp  speak  to  the 
stout  lady,  but  he  is  coming  for  us.".  A 

«Small  black  box,  large  black  box,  on\  portmantçau,  a 
bag.  and  a  bonnet-box,"  says  the  first,  rapidfy  and  concisely, 
takmg  the  mventory  of  her  belongings.  «  Y^,  eyerything  is 
hère.  Ma  foi,  how  I  wish  we  -were  ,on  board,  tnd  ouÉ  of  this 
josthng,  noisythrong."  -  '  \  ' 

"Yes,  it  is  yery.cold,"  replies  the youn^ lady  calledlfarie, 
and  she  draws  a  large  shawl  she  wears  close  about  her,  and 
shivers  in  the  raw  wind. 

They  are  d^ssed  alike,  in  travelmg  suits  if  dark  grày 
tweed,  and  are^pparently  éisters:  'Monsie\ir  «  F.'I?.,"  resum- 
Mig  his  easy  position  against  the  back  of  the  cab,  looks  at 
Aem  cntiçally,  and  on  the  ^ole  approvingly,  while  they  wait 
fortheir  very  good  fnend,  the  M>rain.  He  canJook  witb 
perfect  eas^  for  they  are  not  lookiiig  at  him,  hâve  apparent- 
»y  forgotten  hia  proximity  and  existeiTçe.    The  one  addresscd 


tJ 


^ 


I^  PE,R  STEAMER  HESWERIA, 

■    ■  ■  \  ' 

as  Marie  interests  htm  most,  for  the  good^reauon  that  he  tân- 
not  see  her.  sp  thick  is  themask  of  blact  Uce  sbe  wear» 
strapped  across  her  hat  and  face.     But  the  vdice  is  pecuharly 
sweet,  the  braided  hair  under  the  hatis  a  lovely^goW  bronze, 
and  the  form  is  |o  shapely,  so  graceful,  that  eve^  the  .heavy 
disguising  shawl  cannot  whoUy  conceal  it     Shc  stands  up 
presently  and  he  sees  that  she  is  tall-diyinely  tall,  1^  says 
to  himself,  and  no  doubt  divinely  fair.     In  a  gênerai  ^y  he 
approves  of  tall,  fair  young  women.    The^other  is  a  ï^tie 
person,  about  eighteen,  perhaps,  with  a  dark  «ive  facç,  and 
with  no  especial  clWim  to  beauty,  except  the  claim  of  two 
large.  briUiant  brown  eyes.     Even  if  he  had  not  heard  her 
speak,  he  would  hâve  set  her  down  as  a  French  girl— her 
nationality  is  patent  in  her  face. 

The  captain,  brown-face'd,  burly,  and  génial,  makes  his  way 
to  where  they  await  him,  with  some  difficulty,  for  friends  be- 
siege  him  on  ail  sides.^ 

"Well,  my  little  ladies,"  is  his  greeting,  "  ready,  are  you, 
•  and  waiting  ?  Hère,  my  man  1  '»  A  porter  approaches.  and 
touches  his  cap.  «  Bear  a  hand  hère,  with  thèse  bags  and 
boxes,  and  look  aharp.  Now,  young  ladies,"  hère  he  pré- 
sents an  elbow  to  the  right  and  left,  "  l'U  take  you  under 
my  wing,  and  consign  you  to  the  tender  mercies  oC  the 

tender."  «.    ■  v  u- 

It  is  a  mild  joke,  but  he  laughs  at  it,  and  goes  oflf  with  his 
fair  freight.  The  owner  of  the  sweet  voice  never  looked 
back,  but  the  owner  -of  the  pretty  dark  eyes  cast&  one>  fare- 
well  glance  and  slight  sraile  backward  to  the  gentleman  who 
^  came  to  the  rescue  of  the  black  box.  Mr.  «  F.  D."  lifts  his 
hat,  sees  them  vanish,  and  busies  himself,  for  the  first  timc, 
about  hisdog  and  his  trunk.  ' 

PresenUy  they  are  ail  on  board  the  tender,  and  puffing 


ITownlHè  steeam  to  wficre,  big;  and  qmeti  and  powerfal,  tbe. 

HésjJeria  awaits  her  passengers.    The  number  is  very  large  j 

é«e  is.hardly  atanding  too»  on  the  Utae  tcï»4«r'9  deçk. ,  If. 


>:.  •     ♦ 


5*» 


>«4<4ï'.  ^**  ^'  &A«U  rÀ 


•#:'■':'' 


iS.î3te«w 


-rtff*  STEAMER  NESPERIA, 


13 


is  rough,  and  raw,  and  cold,  and  supremely  misérable.  To 
^ake  matters  worse,  a  drizzling  rain  begins  to  fall,  and  um- 
brellas  are  unfurled,  and  ladies  crouch  un4pr  such  shelter  as 
they  can  find,  and  everybody  looks  blqe,  and  sea-sick  by  an- 
ticipation, and  most  utterly  wretched. 

The  Newfoundland  and  his  master  hoist  no  uwbrellas; 
they  stand  and  look,  oiM^e  whole,  as  if  they  rathçr  enjoyed 
the  miseiy  of  those  aBSK  them,  and  were  perfectly  warm, 
and  cozy  and  comfortable  themselves.  The  young  man 
looks  about  him  for  the  dark  eyes,  and  the  tall,  slight.  grâce- 
fui  figure  ;  but  the  c^ptain  has  stowed  them  away  somewhere, 
and  he  speedily  forgets  them,  and  îs  sufficiently  amused  by 
the  rest.  Then  they  are  on  board,  and  he  gets.  one  more 
glimpse  of  "my  little  ladies,"  as,  wing-and-wing  with  the  cap- 
tam,  they  go  to  the  cabin.  Only  a  glimpSe,  for  he  has  his 
own  cabm  to  look  after,  and  his  dog  to  consign  to  the  proper 
authonties.  And  then  a  gun  fires,  and  there  is  a  parting 
cheer  from  the  tender,  and  Liverpool  lies  behind  them  and 
the  wide  Atlantic  before.    '  .  ' 

Luncheon  hour  arrives,  and  as  no  one  has  had  time  to  be- 
come  sea-sick,  there  is  a  rush  for  theMong  saloon.  Among 
them  is  the  owner  of  the  dog,  whose  appetite,  afloat  or 
ashore,  is  ail  that  the  appetite  of  hearty,  hungry  three-and- 
twenty  should  bc.  As  hn  carves  his  chicken,  he  glances 
about  for  the  owner  of  the  veiled  face— a  pretty  face,  he  has 
made  up  his  mind— but  she  is  not  there.  The  other  is,  hour- 
ever,  seated  near  her  good  friend,  the  captain,  stiU  wearing 
hat  and  jacket^  an^  her  interest  appaicptly  pretty  equally  di- 
vided  between  the  contents  of  her  plate  and  the  men  and 
women  around  her.  She  catches  the  eye  of  the  préserver  of 
her  box,  and  smiles  a  frank  récognition— se  fîank,  indeed, 
that  when  they  rise,  he  feels  warranted  in  approaching  and 
=ftddressi^[^=h«rr 


0 


H'W- 


"Are  you  coroing  on  deck?"  he  asks,  ràther  eagerly. 
She  18  not  precisdy  pretty,  but  ahë  is  sufficiently  attractive  to 


-  V 


*.^ 


hiltj.  J^^^fS^s0i^i(Mk 


'-^A' 


14 


PEJt  STEAMER  HESPERIA, 


make  him  désire  a  better  acquaintance— the  eyes  aie  lorely, 
and  the  smile  is  winning.  "You  had  better,"  he  urges, 
"  keep  on  deck  as  much  as  you  can,  if  you  want  to  avoid 
sea-sicknéss." 

"  But  it  is  raining,  monsieur,"  she  says,  hesitatingly. 

She  accepts  hts  advances  with  the  unconventional  readi- 
ness  with  which  people  ignore  introductions  and  talk  to 
one  another^'on  shipboard.  She  has  ail  the  case  of  manner 
of  one  lyho  has  traveled  a  good  deal,  as  Mr.  "  F.  D." 
sees»  and  bears  abbut  her  unmistakably  the  stamp  of  "  the 

world." 

"  It  has  çeased  t^ing  ;  it  was  nothing  but  a  passing  drift. 
It  is  quite  pieasànt  on  deck  now." 

"  Not  cold  nor  rough  ?  "  she  asks,  dubiously. 

Not  at  ail  cold,  he  assures  her  ;  that  is  to  say,  no  colder 
than  it  was  on  the  dock,  not  so  cold  even  in  sohie  sheltered 
nooks  he  knows  of  ;  and  finally  mademoiselle  takes  his  arm, 
and  ascends  with  him  to  the  deck. 

^"The  other  young  lady  is  not  surely  sea-sick  so  soon  ?  " 
says  this  artful  young  man,  for  he  is  curions  to  see  that  other 
young  lady,  with  the  silvery  voice,  and  graceful  figure,  and 

vailed  face. 

'^o,  only  getting  ready,"  she  answers,  and  laughs.  "  My 
sistér  is  always  sea-sick— the  very  sight  of  the  sea  turns  her 
'tu.  ^e  will  be  ill  from  now  until  wc  land.  I  am  sorry  for 
her,  you  understand,  but  I  hâve  to  laugh.  Now  I  am  sea- 
sick  scarcely  at  ail.  I  hâve  crossed  the  Channel  many  times, 
and  unless  it  is  very,^very  rough,  I  am  not  ill  a  moment. 
But  for  Marie— ah  1   she  is  fit  to  ,die  before  she  reaches 

Calais." 

;     From  this  artless  speech,  the  artful  young  gentleman  leama 
many  things.    First,  that  Marie  is  my  sister— well,  he  had 
g4-that  much;  that  the^little  ladies"  are  certainly 


French;  that  they  had  crossed  the  Channel  many  times; 
that  this  one  may  b^his  compagnon  d$  voyage  to  New  York  \ 


.(/  .y 


''  ."    ^/^■^.h.^^i't 


^vV 


'■/;.. 


PEX  STEAMER  HESPERIA.  15 

» 

but  that  it  is  more  than  doubtfiil  if  the  other  appcars  at  alL 
This  is  so  disappointing  that  he  hazards  a  question. 
-       *•  I  am  really  very  sorry  for  your  sister.     Suirely  she  will 
not  be  obliged  to  keep  her  cabin  ail  the  way  across." 

"  AU  the  way,  monsieur,"*'answers  the  owner  of  the  dark 
eyes,  with  a  pretty  French  gestufe  of  eyebrows  and  shouU 
ders.  «  She  will  just  lie- in  her  berth,  and  grow  whiter  and 
whiter  every  day,  and^-ead  a  great  deal,  and  mupeh  dry  bis- 
cuits,  and  sleep  when  she  is  neither  readfng  nor  munching, 
until  we  land  at  New  York.  Do  you  belong  in  New  York, 
monsieur?" 

"Not  exactiy,  mademoiselle.  I  belong  down  South,  but 
I  hâve  seen  a  good  deal  of  New  York  off  ind  on.  H  you 
will  permit  me  "— he  produces  a  card  with  a  bow,  and  a  slight 
boyish  blush.  The  dark  eyes  rest  upon  it  and  read  «  Francis 
Dexter."  Before  she  can  make  any  acknowledgment,  or  re- 
tum,  as  he  hopes,  the  confidence,  the  captain  suddenly 
approaches,  and  reads  the  pasteboard  over  her  shoulder. 

"  Well,  my  lUtle  lady,"  he  says  in  his  jovial  voice,  "  how 
goesthe«a/.dfe-«^r/  Noneyet?  Thaf  s  a  good  girl.  Mr. 
Dexter,  good-aftemoon  to  you,  sir.  I  saw  you  on  the  deck 
a  while  ago,  but  hadn't  time  to  speak.  My  little  friend,  Ma. 
demoiselle  Reine,  Mr.  Dexter,  going  to  New  York  in  my 
care.  If  you  can  help  to  amuse  her  on  the  passade,  I  shall 
take  it  as  a  personal  favor.  How  is  MademoiseUe  AÎarie  ?  ^ 
Not  sick,  surely  ?  Oh  I  I  am  sorry  to  hear  that  l'U  caU  up. 
on  her  presently,  when  I  get  time."  \ 

The  captain  bustled  away.  - 

Mademoiselle'»  dark  eyes  regard  her  companion. 

"  You  know  the  captaiq^  "  she  inquires. 

"Oh,  very  wcU;  çrQpscd  with  him  when  I  came  over-- 
an  out^ind-out  good  fellb#;  one's  beau-ideal  oif  a  jôlly  gaUor. 
^lajaore^^haa  arj^wnce  w«  tiiet,^4>ttt  iie  iêëînrtoTttveT""' 
good  memory  for^  '  l  didn't  suppose  he  would  remcm^ 


W^- 


A: 


«<? 


PEU  STSAMEX  HESPERI4> 


"Xpu  hâve  been  trayeling  a  whole  year?"  she  asks. 
"  AU  Atnericans  travel,  dp  they  not  ?  They  ail  gp  to  Paris 
once  at  least  in  their  life,  I  am  told." 

'♦  Or  if  not  in  their  life,  they  go  if  they  are  good  when  they 
die,"  responds  young  Dexter,  Taughing.  "  Paris  is  a  partio 
ularly  jdlly  paradise,  alive  or  dead.  I  spent  two  months  - 
there,  and  could  hardly  tear  myself  away  to  do  Brussels,  and 
Vienna,  and  ail  the  rest  of  'em.  I  think  I  hâve  gone  over  the 
beaten  track  of  travel  pretty  well  in  niy  year,  although  a  man 
could  spend  half  a  dozen  years  very  comfortably  knocking 
about  Europe,  and  not  exhaust  the  sights.  But  with  the 
year  my  leave  6i  absence  expires,  and  I  am  obliged  to  re- 
turn." 

"  Ah  1  monsieur  is  in  the  army — — ** 

"  Not  at  ail.  Leave  from  the  powers  at  home,  I  nçiean. 
My  uncle — I  am  his  property,  made  over  to  him  absolutely — 
orders  me  abouYat  wilL  'Take  a^run  over  to  Europe,  iny 
boy,'  he  says  to  me  ;  *  only  don't  ihake  it  over  a  year.  You 
can  see  sights  enqugh,  and  spend  money  enough  in  that  time, 
and  if  it  takes  away  a  little  of  that  puppyish  self-conceit  I  sec 
you  are  developing  so  fast,  it  will  neither  b.e  time  nor  moncy 
wasted/  Such  is  the  frank  and  ingenuous  style  of  my  uncle.  ' 
So  I  packed  my  valise,  and  came,  and  now  the  year  is  up, 
and  I  am  rCturning." 

He  tells  this  with  an  off-hand  cheeriness  that  is  a  part  of 
his  character  ;  and,  by  the  way,  what  a  good  gift  a  frank, 
cheery  voice  is  !  He  is  prepared  to  give  mademoiselle  hi» 
whole  biography,  âince  he  first  went  into  roundabouts,  if  she 
cares  to  listen,  but  she  does  not  sçem  to  care.  She  smiles, 
and  is  silent  for  a  while  j  then  she  asks  siiddcoly  :  "  Mon- 
sieur, hâve  you  seen  Rouen  ?" 

"  The  Manchester  of  France,  as  they  ç*H  it— placç  with 

ireze'a  wonderful  statue. 


and  Diane  de  Poictiera  kneeling  on  tiie  tomb,  and  wherç 
Joan  of  Arc  made  a  noise  in  the  world,  and  Corneille  ad^ 


M.     1  ..i'».    K"i\ 


?'}â&,A'x  «5."^»*là><.SMtl,#l&4V(^5C^ÉM^' 


PER  STEAMER  HESPERIA.        ,  ip 

rontenelle  were  bom,  and  whete  there  is  Notre  Dame  d,B,^ 
&^urs,  beautiful  as  a  vi^n,"i.e  sayvwith  voluble  discon 
H    r^-r  y^'  y«^°™ade-oiselIe,  I  hive  seen  Rouen." 
Her  fiice  lights,  her  eyes  shine,  her  lips  pojit  eagerlv     She 
«aboat  to  speak-then  suddenly  so  Jthoughtihecics  tl 
i^rds  upon  her  lips.  the  light  fades  out  of'her  flce    a„d 
«he  leans  over  ^d  looks  sil^ndy  at  the  dark  flowing  water. 
♦hlH.H     "^    uT'  '"^^'^rf'oiselle?"  Dextef  asserts,  his 
*°'f  ^/  ^"^  the  bulwarks.  his  eyes  on  her  face. 

in  Rou^T'^  "  ''*'"'  "°""*'"^'  *'^"^'"  t'»*»  ^"^^    I  was  bom 

^She  stops  abruptlj/,  recoUecting,  perhaps,  that  this  cheenr, 
boyi^,  bnghtyoungfellowisa  total  stranger.     Indeed,  mos 
people  are  apt  to  forget  that  fact.  after  ten  minutes  of  M 
Dexter-s  society.     He  sees  a  sJ,adow  fall  on  her  face  Te 
hea..  a  faintsigh.  or  fancies  h/ does,  but  the  brown  ^ye! 
do^not  m  from  the  white-capp^d  and  ang^-looking  litde 

whL'^M  "n^""^  ^"""^  P^*"  '^  '^^  ^™  ^"'  "ï  ««^«"W  say,"  is 
tonvlf^'*  ^exter  remarks  sym^athetically  ;  "  50  old.  and  his- 
tonca^  and  ail  that.  Makes  o,e  rub  „p  one's  knowledge  of 
French  history  and  Agnes  Sorel,  and  Diane  de  Poictiers  and 
La  Pucelle  d'Orléans,' as  thly  caU  her  there,  and  lu  tSe 
other  love  y  lad.es  who  had  their  day  and  made  themselves 
immoral  m  that  old  town  «across  the  hills  of  Nonrandy  ' 

than  Boston  the  mind  of  man  has  never  conceived."' 

A  "f"!^?*"™^^"'  ^^'  ""^^^^  '^^  I»~"<^'y  point  it  out  as 
Ae  birthplace  of  F,,nk  Dexter.    My  dear  bo^tum  r.un^ 

and  let  me  see  rf  those  dulcet  tones  really  belong  to  you.» 
M^ir^^'n  '^l'  f"^  "^  ''  a  won^an's,  and  Mr.  Dexter  and 
^^'Tf  "°^  turning  round  dmultaneouslv.  see  t»^ 


■oe-u^^     T^i, --' -"••-'"e '"»"M  »m.uuaneou8iy,  see  i^ 

^..  ^^liersee  ajady  wKosè^est  iriend  cann#cS^ 
young,  whose  worst  enemy  dare  not  stigmatize  her  as  old  A 
Udy  who  has  rounded  the  Rubicon~thirt^6ve-*„d  gonel^ 


^M 


y 


/.■ 


l* 


•  \ 


i8 


PER  STEAMER  \HESPERIA. 


steç»  or  two  down  hill  towards  forty,  tall,  comtnanding,  qf  fine 
présence  an^  fine  face,  dark  and  well  tanned,  and  pt  up  by  a 
pair  of  brilliànt  dlrk  gray  eyes. 

*'  Miàs  Hariott  for  a  ducat  !  "  cries  Dexter,  aliii(^J>efoFe 
he  bas  seen  her,  and  then  he  bas  seized  her  naAds^ad  is 
sbaking  it  witban  energy  tbat  people  of  bis  tynie  invariaBfy 
tbrow  into  tbat  performance.  "  I  knew  you  were  abroad, 
and  used  to  search  the  botel  régisters  in  every  place  I  came 
to  for  yoùr  nàme."  ' 

"  I  don't  believe  you  ever  tbougbt  of  me/  once,  from  tbe 
moment  vtt  parted  untiltbe  présent,"  skeptically  retorts  the 
lady. 

**0h  I  ùpon  my  word  I  did  ;  kept  a'ioo/koutforyoueveiy- 
wbere,  on  tbe  top  of  Mont  Blanc,  and /in  tbe  Hospice  of 
tb&  Great  St.  Bernard  included.  But  you  never  tumed  up,  I 
need  bardly  say.  Better  late  thq^n  never,  tbougb.  Deligbt- 
fui  surprise  to  meetyou  bere.  Hèw  was  it  I  didii't  see  you 
on  tbe  dock  tbis  forenoon  ?"         ^  '^^ 

'"  Because  you  were  better  employed  gazing  elsewbere,  I 
suppose.    But,  my  dear  boy,  you  are  really  looking  very 
brown,  and  nice,  and  bealtby,  and  good-natured.     It  isquite. 
a  pleàsure  to  fee  you  looking  so  well." 

"  My  dear  Miss  Hariott,  do  I  ever  look  anytbitig 
else?"  <^ 

*<I  hadaletter  fl-om  Laurence  last  montb,"  goes  on  the 
lady  ;  "  he  was  asking  for  youj — saying  you  ought  to  be  re* 
turning  about  this  time,  and  ^at  if  I  met  you  he  hoped  I 
would  take  c&re  of  you  :and'fetlch  you  home." 

"Ahl"  Dexter  stuys,  laughing,  '^Longwôrtb  b  an  old 
lover  of  yours,  I  know.  Fve  a  good  mind,  since  he  so  kindly 
committed  me  to  youi  charge»  to  let  you  take  care  (^  me  «i 
iar  as  Bayaaouth.  I  sbould  like  to  see  the  dear  ^Id  boy 
again." 


"  Dût"  o&ys  Miss  Hariott  ;  "  there  need  be  no  hurry  going 
dowB\  South,  and  Baymouth  will  be  looking  jts  lovcliett  b} 


•^^  ti» 


ïÛ^'^\«4iiiA.A-^  r.>i^  -'*^-4  tJ~  i'yl    i)é\ 


<► 


P£R  STEAMER  HBSPERIA. 


tocM^wegctthere.    I  think,  on  the  wMe,  I  prefe.  it  te 

"  Rank  blasphemy  to  say  so.     Miss  Hariott.  let  me  in»k« 
you  acquîUnted  with^-Mademoiselle  Reine." 

An  oldfer  man,  a  wiser  man  (which  Frank  Dexter  is  nnf\ 
.  man  ofUhe  world  (which -pLk  Dex^r  neve    wUI  t  ' 
m.ghthavi  thought  twice  before'introdîicing  t^  ,lL  > 
this  free  aiid  easy  wav  withn.,»  »»,-  •*.  -:  ° 

ter  were  tEn  ^'^  °^  °"*^-    ?"'  ^  ^^'^nk  Dex- 

JS?*  T   r ''^^  3^«"ng  fellowr  that  he  is.  - 
Thejjttl^  Non^n  girVwhose  dark  eyes  are  the  chief 
chann  of  h^  olive  face,  looks  up  and  smUes.    Mis  HaÎôtt 

anryouÏ^JflL^"  "  '^'  ^^^^'  ^^^"  ^''«^^  '-'^  -  ^aif 
wonid^'^Nob/™"''"  ''"   ^^^-     "I  --^  -«hing  you 

trust  m);8elftoone-lAhT;h!Î  ^  T^*'"^^*''  ^  ^"- 

/       *"  ""^^ ■  An  I  thank  you.  mv  dear  "  \n  ir^k^b 

Jlf'Z.'.'^''"*^  "*  ^'  *♦'»  Hariott.    '.>r  we» 


<Mu.H«„,tttook.^,^,.  "but  my  chief  o««,iJX„ 


'1,  • 


«■^^^XVi.vH-» 


".     -\- 


,.-^ 


,.^ ... 


80 


PER  STEAMEk  HESPERIA. 


\ 


% 


a  yacht  biilt  They  know  how  to  do  that  sort  of  ihing  in 
your  little  New  England  town,  and  it  is  about  ail  they  do 
know,  except  to  make  pumpkiu  pies " 

"  Punipkin  pie  is  the  national  dish  of  my  country.  I  havc 
eaten  nothing  to  equal  it  on  the  whole  continent  of  Europe. 
Speak  of  your  nation's  institutidus  with  respect,  yotmg  man, 
or  forever  hold  your  peace." 

"  Well,"  goes  on  Dexter,  "  I  mean  to  build  that  yacht.  I 
wish  I  faight  name  it  after  you,  Miss  Hariott,  but  we  trill 
settle  that  later,  and  1  shall  spend  (D.  V.)  the  next  fiveyears 
of  ray  life  cruising  about  between  Boston  Bay  and  the  Gulf 
of  Florida.  l'U  take  you  and  Larry  every  time  you  both 
like  to  corne,  for  I  know  it  would  be  cruel  to  part  you.  You 
ought  to  be  a  pretty  good  sailor  b)r^this  time,  I  should  think. 
And,  if  Ma'amselle  Reine  is  any  where  within  a  hiuidred  miles, 
we  will  be  more  than  happy  tô  çall  for  aiid  take  her  too." 

Mlle.  Reine  has  been  sitting  ail  this  time  watching  the 
rough,  dark  water,  tossing  so  restlessly  ail  around  them. 
But  she  has  been  listening  also.  Since  the  word  Baymoilth 
was  spoken,  a  quick  interest  has  awakened  in  her  quiet  face, 
\  and  she  has  sat  attentive  to  every  word.  But  if  Dexter,  artfol 
once  more,  wished/by  this  well  directed  hint  to  discover  her 
destination,  he  does  not  discover  it.  Mademoiselle  laughi 
and  answers  too,  with  perfect  seeming  frankness. 

"  I  am  a  tolerable  sàilor  as  girls  go,"  she  says,  "  but  I 
share  Miss  Hariott's  aversion  for  the  sea,  and  I  don't  think 
I  should  fancy  yachting.  Are  we  going  to  hâve  a  rough 
night,  monsie,ur?  A  prospective  sea-captain  ought  to  be 
wesither-wise." 
\     "Well — a  leetle  dirty  weather,"  replies  Mr.  Dextei,  cast- 

Ïig  his  eye  in  a  skîpperish  manner  tdi^windlward  ;  "  mei^ly  a 
ttle. \  Nothing  to  signify— 4iothing  to  be  afraid  oC" 
\  HWho's  afiaid?"  retoirts  Miss  Hariott,  indignantly._    f*A 


little  ti^vel  is  a  dangerous  thing  for  a  boy  (tf  your  âge,  Master 
FrankyÀ    I  never  liked  precocious  children,  and-  if  i'  had 


kSl!?!^ 


ill^^/■»  .l^iib.jk.^jL.xa'i-i ^ '~ iii-t   '  %uûL-%iif, 


PEK  STEAMER  UESPERIA. 


31 

fcecn  ncar  that  'ancle  of  yours  when  h-  «^^         il 

■      a  .i)ly  boy  like  yoÛ/'  '^"'"'"""'  I^"«  Ix.ngv,„rth  for 
"  Now,  niy  dear  Miss  Hariott"  m™  A- .. 

*lways4mry™  '^',";""'8 .'"P'^  fentrea,.    I. 
chose  to  be  a  f^îl!!^    And  ,.  wasa'.  a,y  &„,t     ^^^ 

n.bK„tT.t:ri:?"  ^r-  *•"-  «"'*°«' 

iha.  „pse.s  n..,a„d  CasTo.  say  ifîs"„"î'  "'"l""* 
Mademoiselle  is  tJ,i.  .„..   c    .     •      ''        '  ""'  J'"""'  f^"'»- 

English.  wi.h  soarcely  eve.  a„  tJ^Z  '"'  '""  ''«»' 

vividiy  whene-r  I^t-rr^^TinTV'^'''' 
brown  eyes  before  it  reaehes  the  I^Tm;^^-         " 

^  ^*^  ^  .a^fcSrmrriïâtirsayyour  prayers  be^^ 


"^jM6rrw/rf,ân(rsaHy, 
elylBrseveryday,#I 


Jiad  b<^n  bom  m  Kouen,  or  VersaiUe^  or  Verona.^ 

■  •     / 


/ 


t%ffi*'  -ii,  -   »    '      *•        ,-ii 


>i^!4-^w-f-^' 


'*••- 


22 


BlER  STEAMER  HESPERIA. 


Venice,  or  Any  of  those  old  roiuantic,  historical  places,  where 
I  fecl  a  man  of  my  caliber  ought  to  hâve  been  born," 

"  Frank,  n/jr  dear,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  resignedly,  "  what 
a  dreadfia>  deal  otnonsense  yott  tâlk^  I  was  asking  made- 
moiselle how  she  comes  to  speak  English  so  perfectly. 
Please  don't  say  anything  for  tiie  next  five  minutes  if  you 
can  help,  and  give  your  fèllow-creaturcs  a  chance." 

The  rebuke  in  no  way  discon^erts  Mr.  Dexter,  and  thé 
soft  eycs  c^  the  little  mademoiselle  look  up  at  him  with  that 
pleasant  smîle,  as  if  shie  fqund  his  hohest  boybh  face  good 
tolooklàt.    But  she  addresses  the  lady. 

"  I  wjEUt  bcmi  iÀ  Rouen,  and  hâve  liyed  there  nearly  ail 
mylife;  but  I  knew  many  English  there**— she  hésitâtes  a 
second  and  the  smile  dies  quite  away-^"  my  mother  was 
American.** 

«  American  1  •*  rcpeats  Miss  Hariott,  delightedly.  "Ah! 
that  accounts.    Why,  my  dear,  you  are  almost  a  compatriot." 

**  Almost  is  a  wide  word.  1  am  nothing  at  ail  of  an  Ameri- 
can. 'Will  I  ofiend  you  very  much  if  I  say  I  lifce  neither 
America  or  Americans  ?  ** 

Frank  reddens.  Fora  nipment  Miss  Hariott  does  look 
înclined  to  be  offefided.    There  is  a  little  embarrassing  pause. 

"  But,  my  dear,  your  uMM^er——** 

"Mytmotheris^^ii/*    \  -  ^  .  ' 

"  ï  beg  your  pardon.  I  iras  only  about  to  say  how  was  it 
possible  for  you  to  dislike  your  mothei's  people  I  Havq 
you  known  so  many  diss^eeable  Americans  ?.**: 

"I  never  knew  any.**  « 

"Then  how  is  it  possible  for  you  to  judge  whether  you  like 
them  or  not  ?  f  erhaps  you  read  the  books  English  litgpry 
people-^ala.  Dickens,  jjlrs.  TroUope-^have^  written  co  make 
Ittoney  and  ouncature  us  ?"  '\ 

*'Y«5s.    That  iSi  I  hâve  read  Dickgns  ;  but  it  is  not  that 


V-. 


I  cannot  tell  yoU  whaît  it  is— À  Doctor  FélI,  sort  of 
perhaps.    Ail  I  know  is  that  it  Is  there.'^ 


V 


; 


'^ar^  STEAMER  HESPEklA, 


K 


»3 

^^.^  compliment  to  her  late  mother?"'  thinks  Mip. 
%nott     «Well,  my  dear."   she  says  aloud,   with  perfect 
goM  humor.  "we  muât  tiy  and  dispel  that  illusion  wheiKwe 
getjrou  among  us.     We  and  the  French  hâve  always  bSn 
V^od  fhends.     We  adore  to  this  day  the  memory  of  I^a. 
yette.    He  was,  I  remember,>ny  very  ûrst  love." 
^  •  "As  Longworth  is  your  lâst,"  says  Mr.  ôe.kter.     Please. 
n,ay  I  speak  no«r,   Miss  HariotW    Thé  five  «inutes  are 
siirelyup." 

"W70uca„talï^M.'amseIIe  Reine  o«t  of  her  aversion  ' 
^.^u  »d,yoar  counhymen,  Frank,  ose  your  tongue,  by  .11  . 

J!L^^'  ï°  ""f^"  '°  *'"""'"'  ^™V'  «y»  made- 
S  Ki"i  "''J'  "'  ""'-^'^^d'y  «■>«  «>  coolly  ,h.t 
Frank  blnshes  wuh  pleasnre,  and  Miss  Hariol.  laugh,  ont- 

^  j;Thettif1s<onectivyy,  not  ihdiviat«aiy,  thatjfeu  dislike 
u^  she  says.  «I  am  glad  of  that,  for  gênerai  avions  11 
tnore  easily  overcome  than  particular.  ^am  glad,  too  vou 
^about  to  yisit  us;  that  shows  t  gen^ous  wish  on  'yo" 
part  to  know  us  before  you  absol^tely  côndemn."  ' 

ih^^Tr  't""''  V'  '"'"  '^p^*^^  "^°  yo-  supposa  ' 

then  madame,  I  am  goW  because  I  deàire  to  go-^oinV  > 
my  own  free  will  ?  "       \  b"--gomg  ot 

Once  again  the  girl's  lords  are  so  unexpefcted  that  they 
quue  put  good  Miss  H^tt  out  ail  Ihe  mo^  beca^  a  r^ 
ply  is  evideotly  expected.]  "««use  a  re- 

^  «Well,  madembiselle,  i  certainly  supposed  ti,at  in  visiting 

•*y»»>8s  Hancitt  a«H  f«,.  ^  moment  frrâaU  <he 


fr 


cansay. 
There  is^t  once  «,  outsUken  abruptness  and  a  ri»cf« 


rii 


î 


i.-is*j 


'î-t   itf  , 


^ts^ 


"\ 


V^V 


.f 


u 


PER  STEAMER  HESPERIA, 


She  siti  and  looki' 


about  this  young  person.that  puzzles  her. 
at  her.         , 

Mademoiselle  has  resuined  her  former  Ustless  attitude,  and 
is  gazing  at  the  fast-flowing  water. 

"A  young  woman  a  little  out  of  the  c<?œmon,"  she  thinka.g 
"  Girls,  as  a  rule,  are  as  much  alikeas  dolls  cast  in  a  mpl^ 
this  one  with  black  hair  and  black  eyes,  that  one  Wil 
hair  and  blue  eyes,  the  inside  of  the  pretty  heads  aïl 
same  pat^ern.  But  I  fancy  this  sroaft  demoiselle  thinks  for 
herself."  '  .  ' 

"  It  \»  growîng  very  cold,"  says  the  yo\ing  lady,  rising 
abruptlyj  "  and  my  sister  is  ill  j  I  must  go  to  her.  No,  mon- 
sieur, not  at  all"-Mtô  Frank  eagerly  offers  an  arm.  "I  will 
do*  very  wdl  alone.  Gopd-by  for  to-day,  Miss  Haribtt. 
I  shall  hâve  the  Jjpasure,  1  hope,  of  rtïeeting  you  tp- 
morrow."  ^» 

•♦  We  witl  meet,  and  disagree,  every  day  we  are  on  board, 
roy  dear,",refponjd8  Miss  Hàriott,  cordially.  And  then  she 
sits  and  watches  the  slight,  shapely  figure,  quick,  light,  aâd 
casy  in  every  movement,  out  of  sight. 

'  "  Well,  Miss  Hariott,"  says  Dexter,  taking  the  deserted 
stool,  "and  what  do  you  thdnk  of  her  ?  .-\I  hâve  heard — 
Longworth  said  it,  of  course—that  your  jucjgment  is  infalli- 

"  Is  she  prètty^rank  ?  "  is  the  l^^yjgggtnse.     "^Ygrt 

are  a  boy,  and  ou^t  to  know."        mÊÊBÊ^m^'  r^^ 

"  A  boy  I    I  was  three-and-twenl^^tsT  Dirthday.    I  am 
five  feet  eleyen  and  a  half  inches  high.     I  weigh  one  h^n 
dred  and  sixty  poùhds.     I  hâve  been  in  love  with  three  dit 
tipct  b^let-gifls,  and  one  Alpine  maid  last  summer.    What 
■^^  I  àoiofi  to  be  stigmatized  thus  ?"  v 

fï'lf  y<mj»ere  a^  tall  as  Blunderbore,  the  Welsh  giant,  if 
^Irour  lôclfliwere  as  silvery  as  John  Anderson's  'pow,'  and  if 
you  had  lieenln  love  widiaîT  the  TaïÏ€  t-prls  m  the  Btâ^: 
Crpok,  you  would  slilî  be  notlyng  but  a  big  boy,"  fetorti 


1^ 


'j5Si?; 


ililL 


.H^::.fA>'iK3^^î^â^ 


PEX  STEAMER  HBSPERIji. 


as 


M^s^Hariott      "Answcr  n,y  question-«  «ademoiseUe 

moltl'"'  "*^"^*P'  '^'^^  «'^^  «-«il^ï»,  and  then  she  is  al 

"  *Brown  eye»,  and  pale,  pale  face^ 
^  >vond'roi|  face,  that  never  beftaty  had. 
And  yet  is  beautiful.' 

Thae  describe,  h.r.     Thcre',  a  sort  of  fascination  aboa'  h„ 

r^riiin?;-"  '  ^,  ''"°"  •"'«^'  -"^  ^'"'  - '-  -* 

nottang  .1^  ,„  petticoats  was  near.     I  wonder  vou  had  n« 

">foDsense." 
'a^^:t^  ^';    ^'  ^^^  '"  Niblo's,  and  i,  «. 

lace,  explodes  mto  a  great  laugh.  ^ 

"  f  rank^  this  is  awfui  nonsense "  t 

tt   Ta.    •  '''■  «  '-    ■  ^^ 

Itisgo»peltruth,MissHariott    She  iiaàuated  h.t„~™ 

»;«.  .u  in ..  ^TZT^:ziZZ!t^^Z, 

— ^^^Cshjtaal^- permit  ^ie^^f>nfï»«^rtifwfc4- ■  - — — 

^        ,     irr~«M*-t«Kr.     1  aonr^tnlnlt  1  can  amuse  mv. 

«K  morr  «noce.,,,,  „„  ^  p,^^  ^^  ««<"«  »r- 

'Whatnherniune?"  r-       ,     _ 


•-■    >!.    *Wl.'f% 


ki,,ISiisv¥«'^^W:C.  ^, 


.^^^.-.y-r-^  ,r-F^wr^^-^r^^w- 


§■■■>:  îv 
i  r' 


/■•l 


•      >, 


f©  ;       ^^^  STÉ4MER  HESPERIA, 

"  Mademoiselle  Reine.' 

"  What  is  her  other  name  ?  " 

"  *  My  little  ladies,'  I  heard  the  captain  call  her  and  her 
sister  that." 

"  Oh,  there  is  a  sister.     What  is  she  like  ?  " 

"A  pretty  girl,  if  one  could  see  her,  I  am  certain.  1 
didnH.  She  wore  a  vail  whichshe  ne  ver  put  up.  They  seem 
to  be  quite  alone^^and  traveling  in  the  captain' s  ch^u^e.  I 
hâve  a  conviction  she  will  be  the  one  I  shall  |ionor  with  my 
préférence,  if  she  appears." 

"  ïf  she  is  anything  like  the  one  who  has  appeared,  it  will 
be  labor  lost.  .There  are  plenty  of  brains  in  that  litjle  dark 
head,  and  the  girl  who  marries  you,  Frank,  will  of  necéssity 
be  a  simpleton  of  the  first  water." 

Mr.  Dexter  removes  his  hat  and  bows  to  this  compriment. 
Then  Miss  Hariott,  who,  like  most  plump  people,  is  of  a 
chilly  habit,  gçts  up,  takes  his  arm,  staggers  below,  and  is 
seen  no  more.  Young  Dexter  goes  t0A,the  smoking  room, 
fratemizes  with  every  one  he  meets,  and  forgets  ail  about 
the  pretty  sniile,  the  deep  soft  eyes,  and  that  other  vailed  face. 

The  owner  of  the  vailed  face — the  vail  removed  now — 
lifts  her  head  from  her  pillow  as  her  sister  enters,  and  speaks 
wearily. 

"  At  last,  Petite "        v  ' 

"Marie!" 

"Well,  Petite!" 

"  I  hâve  been  on  deck,"  says  Mademoiselle  Reine,  sup- 
pressed  exciteitaent  in  her  voice.  "  I  met  again  the  gentle- 
man who  spoke  to  us  on  the  dock — ^you  remember  ?  " 

«  I  remember.    Well  ?" 

♦«  lie  addressed  me  again  and  we  began  to  talk.  Then  a 
l*dy  canje  up  and  spoke  to  him,  an  old  friend,  and  they 
tâUced  of-->Marie.  the^  tjdked  of  Baymouth.." 


'^ 


But  Marie  is  not  excited,  though  Reine  is.    She  lifts  hei 
^yebrows  and  says,  calmly  t  '  l     *^ 


.  •rf'J'f'.P'i     <,  ni  . 


V*t    «'    _^f^ï**5V  i^'-i!i^ 


t'<y  ^'  î" 


P£X  STEAMER  HESPERIA.  zf 

''Et  puis  V 

"And^th,..n-howis  it  thatnothinè  exciies  3 ou,  Marie  ? 
It  startled  me  I  can  tell  you.  To  speak  of  that  place,  and 
before  me,  and  so  soon." 

"  An  odd  coïncidence;  I  admit.     Did  they  speak  of " 

«  Not  a  Word,"  says  Reine  quickly  ;  «  they  mentioned  but 
^    one  name-Laurence  Longworth.     But  who  is  to  teU  what 
1  may  not  hear  before  the  journey  ends  " 
'^t,  indeed  ■•  says  ,he  other,  falling  back  on^,„  pillo.,, 
«  tf  «  could  do  any  good.     Reine,  l  „md  rather  hea^ 
noth.ng-„„,  one  word-and  go  to  my  fa,e  blindfold.    If  I 
were  gomg  to  ha»e  a  limb  eut  off,  I  would  rather  the  surgeon 
told  n,e  nothmg  abou.  when  or  how,  but  jus.  pu.  n,e  ZZ 
eflier  sieep  and  ampuWe  it  without  my  knowledge.     When 
w^know  wha.  we  are  going  to  sufifer,  we  suffer  .wice  over, 
m  anno,patio„a«d  .n  reality.    And  I  Aink  the  firs.  is  «,é 

"Marie.  I  wish  we  had  neVer  comey    I  hâve  a  feelin»  . 

c'^lTont"''        "'"'"'  ""  ''""""^''°"  *■«'  ""-/»i" 

"I  don't  believe  in  presentiments,  and  it  was  wise  to 

aTI  f       .T'  "^'  «''""'"'*■'.  "^y  •"  a  *agon,  bu.  in 
the  old  fa«y-.ales  even  the  dragons  were  conquered  b^  cou 
âge.     I  feel  as  .hough  we  were  the  heroines  of  a  fW,aïe 
on  our  way  to  an  enchanted  castle.  never  knowing  what  le 
guard,an  monster  i,  like,  bu.  ^etermined  to  chafmTand 
corne  off  victorious  ail  the  saœe."  ' 

M,  "*."'' ,'!!'  ^"""  Charming,  chh-U,  are  we  to  £nd  him 
hère  too?"  asks  Reine,  smiling  a,  she   stoops  to  k"ss  h™ 

^^P  '^■'^  *'""  "**  *«  »"4e  of  p^^c^" 
^^^::„^L^.^'^  f «den.^M.ri..^, 


+  •■• 


"Don't  let  us  talk,  Petite,"  she  says,   we  Jy  •    «it  i, 
veiy  rough,  and  I  am  half  sick."  ^  ' 


'-'^ùkÈèi^A.  ■  .1. 


4ikSJiiiî'^Jj,Tr-iÂ^'i%,'*A-rA-s 


H 


28 


PBR  STEAMER  HESPERIA, 


An  hour  after  darknçss  lies  over  the  storiny  and  lonely 
sea.  Lights  are  flasliing  in  every  cabin,  the  saloon  is  brave 
M'ith  many  Mtmps,  much  music,  and  cheerful  conversation. 
Hours  pass,  and  presently  it  is  bedtime,  and  music  ceases, 
and  good-nights  are  âaid,  and  lamps  go  out,  and  the  first 
evening  on  board  ship  is  'over.  People  clamber  into  berths, 
and  fall  asleep  to  the  lullaby  of  the  rocking  waves.  Mis* 
Ilariott  has  had  what  she  dearly  likes — abright,  social  evei^- 
ing,  and  goes  to  bed  in  high  good  hunior.  Frank  DexjM^ 
1  étires  to  his,  chanting  cheerfully  a  piratical  refrain, 'whij? 
infonns  ail  whom  it  may  concern  that  \  '^'^t^  ^ 

**  Oh,  he  is  a  pirate  bold, 

The  scourge  of  îhe  wide,  wide  sca, 
With  a  murd'rous  thirst  for  gold, 
And  a  life  that  is  wild  and  free," 

and  breaks  oflf  to  order  Tom,  the  steward,  to  be  sure  and 
fetch  hini  a  tub  of  the  Atlantic  at  sharp  six  to-morrow  morn- 
ing  for  his  bath,  and  tumbles  up  to  his  roost,  and  is  asleep 
almost  before  his  brown  curly  head  is  fairly  on  the  pillow.  ♦ 

Up  in  her  berth  the  little  mademoiselle  reclines,  gazing  out 
with  darkly  solemn  eyesat  that  restless,  complaining,  tossing 
océan,  whiqh  stretches  everywhere,  black  and  heaving,  and 
'  melts  away  at  last  into  the  storm-driven  sky.  Below,  Marie 
sleeps,  her  fair  head  pillowed  on  one  perfect  arm  ;  but  Reine 
cannot  sleep  this  first  night,.and  so  lies  thinking.  Soniber 
thoughts  surely,  with  those  deep,  melancholy  eyes  fixed  oc 
the  dark  and  lonesome  sea. 


/'■ 


'\,ï_^  :,.'.'.-  tli''.,.r.' 


±.OST  IN  PORT. 


^ 


CHAPTER  II. 

LOST  IN  PORT. 

venfied-u  ,s  extrexnely  dirty  for  the  next  three  days. 

There  is  a  head-wind,  a  leaden  sky,  and  off  and  on 

a  fine  dnzzl  ng  rain.    the   stonf  ci,;^     i  «n  ana  on 

sea  sickness.     A  fe«r  gentlemen  stiU  show  at  dinner  and  on 

tef;ho" .'""'''"°"  "'°"« ''''-«-''-»'»  ~D^ 

ter  who  "cornes  oue  strong.»  in  the  wordsof  Mark  Tanlev 
and  .s  as  "jolly  •  as  even  Mark  could  be  in  the  ÏÏ„e  pU^e' 
He  never  ra.sses  a  .neal,  he  spends  his  evenings  in  tie  ^Z 

fnendly  calls  upon  his  big  dog,  and  also  upon  Mis  HaT^' 
he  Ukes  «gorous  exercise  for  hours  together  o.,T.l' 
buttoneduDto  the  »»,..  m  t,;".'       ï      '"gemer  on  deck, 
ashine  in  ,h      1    !•  '^    •  ^         "'^  '^''"''  '""  "iddy  face 
ashme  n  the  slanttng  wmd  and  rain.     Miss  riariott  is  dis- 

lad.es,    but  m  Iheir  absence  Mr.  Frank  is  consoled  by  an- 

^yzrzer.rer-  -^^^^ 

•n,is  .s  a  Mrs.  Scarlett,  a  passi  pretty  blonde,  a  coquette 
De     rT:r„r'V"\"''°'  """"^  l^overed'thatTung 

Scarle.,.«Ultt„q„,te  in  féminine  hun,«,  nature  toprrf^  ,. 


À' 


;?.  'i!  •Jivvi!'^^;;  *«fi'irC^-  :.--^^\ 


>  S-'j.'j^'.!!^-!.' 


^ii«  '4^* 


v> 


»(^-' 


-  I 


''\ 


3D 


LOSr  IN  PORT. 


Il  . 


the  golden  youth  for  one's  favors,  and  Frank,  as  has  been 
said,  rises  to  the  distinction  of  pretty  Mrs.  Scarlett's  cavalier 
servant.     In  a  ravishing  suit  of  navy  blue,  fitting  like  a  glove 
the  roundest,  trimmest  shape  in  the  world,  a  sailor-hat  crush- 
ed  doivn  over  the  fluffy  copper-gold  hair,  a  little  gauzy  gray 
vail  over  the  smiling,"  dimpling  face,  Mrs.  Scarlett  hangs 
daily,  for  hours  at  a  stretch,  upon  his  àrm  in  that  quick 
march  up and down  ;  by  Mrs. Scarletf s  sidè  he  sitsat  dinner, 
by  Mrs.  Scarlett's  side  he  stands  ail  evening  whilé  she  plays 
"  pièces  "  and  sings  pathetic  little  songs  about  standing  on 
bridges  at  midnight  when  the  clocks  are  strikîng  the  hour 
and  imploring,  in  a  wailing  minor  strain,  the  sea  to  break 
break,  break  at  the  foot  of  its  crags,  in  a  heart-breaking  little 
.    way  that  makes  èhe  listener  feel,  without  any  previous  data 
to  go  upon,  that  Mr.  Scarlett  must  be  a  brute,  and  Mrs. 
Scarlett  must  hâve  been  forced  to  gïve  hi^  her  hand  while 
^  her  heart  was  another's.     Frank  falls  in  \xm  ;  tô/all  in  love 
i»  Fmnk's  normal  condition,  and  whether  the  lady  be  married 
or  single,  old  or  young(and  Mrs.  Scarlett  might  easily  hâve 
been  younger),  does  not  for  the  time  being  signify  in  the 
least.     He  forgets  Miss  Hariott  and  Mademoiselle  Reine, 
until,  on  the  mornîhg  of  the  fourth  day,  going  on  deck  aftcr 
breakfast,  he  finds  winds  and  waves  propitious,  the  sun  try- 
ing'to  break  out  from  Ijehind  sulky  clpuds,  and  a  little  gray 
figure  that  he  knows  leaning  in  the  old  position  over  the 
side  and  watching  the  water.     Before  he  can  advance,  a 
neatly-gloved  hand  is  pushed  through  hisarm,  and  Mrs.  Scar- 
lett daims  her  dwn. 

"  Naughty  boy  1  I  hâve  been  on  deck  tbis  half-hour,  look- 
ing  for  you  everywhere.  Where  hâve  you  been?  Look 
there— jt  i$  actually  the  sun  at  last  Come  for  our  walk.  No 
one  has  my  step  like  you,  Frank." 

For  afler  three  days'  acquaintance  Mrs.  Scarlett  calïs  her 
rictim  Ffânk.^     "    --^-^ _ — . 


**What  I  not  Scarlett?"  say*  Frank,  in  that  cheeiy  voice 


.  i.f. 


^t-| 


LOST  W  PORT. 


31 


ofhii^tliorousîîily  heart-whole  voice,  whatever  its  ownei 
may  thmk.  ^ 

''Scarlett!»  repeate  Mrs.  Scarlett.  with  ineffable  scbrn. 
Then  she  s.ghs  and  saddens,  and  is  silent.  and  the  sigh,  and 
the  sadness,  and  the  silence  are  meant  to  say  :  «  Whv  sueak 
o  ./.;  Why  not  let  .«e  forget  if  I  can,  in 'congenLVcon' 
pamonship,  the  galhng  Chain  that  bindsa  sensitive  heart  to 
one  cold  and  coarse  ?  "  *«*«  lo 

Frank  is  touched.  ' 

■'P<K,r^li.de  woman.»  he  thinks.   •"  Scarletffa  .  beast 
Il  I  were  m  his  place "  "«^^u 

And  th|n  he  looks  down  into  the  pensive  face,  and  sigh. 
in  sympathy,  and  starts  her  off  at  a  brUk  canter  ,  ^ 

They  pass  Mademoiselle  Reine  ;  she  sees  thém,  but  she 
does  notlook  up.    Miss  Hariott  sees  them  too,  when  a  t 
le  latçr  she  réels  on  deck  and  totters  to  mademoiselle's  side 
and  she  nods  curtly  to  young  Dexter.  and  looks  his  fair  frienj 
through  with  her  keen  woman's  eyes 

toalkat  once  and  compare  notes  about  their  three  days» 
that  Mlle.  Reme  can  converse  fluently  and  well.     Her  Z 

t'ZtinT  t  '""'°'"  °'"'^'°  ^°"«"  -«  wonderfu^t 
teresting      She  narrâtes  simply  and  unaffectedly,  and  Jows 

v.v,dly  dramatic  sometimes.     They  sit  untilth';  lunc^îeon 

e:!i;eT:r^:::r "-  -^  -«  ^^^-  ^^^  ^  ^o.;; 

Neither  Mr.  Dexter  aor  M™.  Scarlett  «t  «  their  table 
but  the,  „e  stm  together.  «th  Mr.  Scarlet,  a  ..„"  «'^ 
bfe  good.ha,„ored.  middle-aged  gentleman,  o^  the  oLTZ, 

Itra^Si^  """'  "''"'^"  "^  *'  "'^'"  "»» 
_  LuncheoD  oyer,  mademoisdlr  disnppcarg  foi  >  tJme   a»d 


fl 


■:t 


?_-*.4àâï"*fl^^.  ,*.  '«, .' 


f'fiùp'-   ', 


,;'f^\:-'^-fÇi~- 


'W 


\  ' 


32 


LOSr  IN  PORT. 


'♦So  sony  to  hear  yow.  hâve  been  sea-?ick,  Miss  Harioèt. 
Nohody  can  téll  how  much  I  hâve  missed  you."' 

Miss  Haribtt  regards  him  with  a  scornful  eye. 

1"  Ah,  nobody,  I  am  quite  sure.  You  hâve  been  dreadful- 
ly  sorry,  no  doubt — ^you  lopk  it.     Who  is  that  woman  ?  " 

"  What  iwonian,  my  dear  Miss  Hariott  ?" 

"  Npw  don'tbegin  by  being  an  imbécile  at  ihe  very  open- 
ing  of  thîs  conversation.  That  woman  you  liave  been  pranc-- 
ing  up  and  down  the  deçk  ail  this  forenoon  ?" 

"Prancing!  That'any  one  should  call  Mrs.  Scarletfs 
«raceful,  gliding  gait  prancing.  That  is  the  lady  who 
hais  kept  me  -l^rom  utter  désolation  during  yoUr  lUness 
of  the  past  three  daya.  She,  is  the  prettiest  lady  on 
board."  h 

"Ah  I  "  says  Miss  Hariott,  with  skèptical  scom. 

"Surel/you  think  so.  Did  you  ever  see  a  more  perfect 
complexion  ?"  ,^ 

"  Rice-powder,^'  curtly  responds  the  lady. 

"  But  ths^t  lovèly  color "  ** 

'iMougevigUair 

"  And  such  a  superb  head  of  hair- 


"  Bought  it  in  Paris,  *y  preçious  boy." 

"Such  an  exquisite  tint,  too " 

"  Golden  Fluid,  Frank."        ^^ 

"  Well,  but  the  figure,"  remonstrated  Dexter,  trying  to 
look  indignant,  but  immensely  tickled  ;  "  that,  at  least,  you 
cannot  deny  is  genuine,  and " 

"Cotton  and  corsets,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  trcnchantjy. 
"  Don't  tell  fcie.  I  know  najjjre  when  I  see  it,  «nd  1  know 
art.  If  she  wants  to  parade  this  ship  and  exhibit  herself, 
why  doesn't  she  get  her  lawful  owner  to  parade  her  ?  She 
is  married,  isn't  she  ?" 

"lAlas  1  yes.    As  for  the  husband,  he  is  what  ail  husbands 
-tw^  il»  insensible  l^te.    He  smokes  afiéTeadriîr^ffp',  hë= 
sraokes  and  plays  cards  ail  evening,  and,  I  believe,  smokes 


-.IfK'ïii'*»-  *^î^.i*"î^^i".^.*^^*^*M.iÉ^^IM-'  N 


>  ■"■'  ,'".:V '^î*^ 


LOST  IN  PORT. 


Il 


;   *nd  sieeps  àll  night    Is  it  not  sarf  to  W^ngd  JJke  that 

thrown  away  on  such  a  stolîd  animal  ?  »  .  ^     "      *''*' 

M:ss  Haxiott.  in  angry  disgust,  looks  to  see  if  he  is  in 

earnest  and  the  look  is  too  much  for  Frank.    Thatth^r 

boy  laugh  pf  .h.s  breaks  forih.  and  makes  ail  who  ^e  ^tWn 

heanng  smile  from  vçry  sympatèy 

"^  J  T^ï  "  '^l  ^°^'  ^  "  '">''  *  "«'^^^  ^<=hind     «  May  I  corne 
and  laugh  too?    Ilike  to  Jaugh."  '^ayi  corne 

inJ'^V'^'^r'"'*''""^-     ^'^«."«thinginthe  le^stamus- 

l'or  it  18  mademoiselle,  with  that  smile  on  her  dark  fac« 
and  m  her  deep  eyes.  that  makes  Miss  Hariott  th^Tk  her 
somethmg  more  than  pretty.  r  ^^"^ 

"  How  is  your  sister  ?  "  she  says. 

"  Still  miserably  ill.  Marie  is  the  very  worst  sailor  in  .h- 
-rld.  She  will  be  ill  un«i  .e  get  to  Ne'w  Yoi"  "  "  '""^ 
i-ven  if  the  weather  is  fine  ?  » 

"Whynot?" 

MademoiseUe  looked  al  her  with  a  half  laugh. 

*:  .t;  j;:„^"?.  ""•  ^^  "  »  «f»''».  "<»  wi«  no.  ^ar 

you  yet."  P°'  ^  "*^®  discovered  in 

Miss 


"^^S^tTt  -«lUau»  m  sp.(e  of  her  starlmgl, 
>  ^^»  iw  more.    But  thu  demure  Norman  girl  baffle. 


fi 


/  *' 


*•* 


H 


LOST  IfT  PORT. 


éven  her  pénétration.     Weaknesses  she  may  hâve  in  plentjr, 
but  at  least  they  do  not  lie  on  the  surface.  ' 

**  Your  sister  is  younger  than  you,  of  course  ?  "  she  remarks, 
and  mademoiselle  looks  at  her  as  if  surprised. 

"  Younger  ?  No,  shejs  two  years  older.  Marie  is  twenty, 
I  am  eighteen." 

The  niingled  candor  and  reserve  of  the  girl  puzzle  tjie  elder 
lady.  Young  persons  of  eighteen  are  not  generally  averse 
to  telling  their  âge,  but  thèse  admissions  lead  onje -to  look 
for  otheriS,  and  the  others  do  not  corne.  AU  Miss  H&riott, 
who  has  a  fuU  share  of  woman's  curiosity,  can  make  out  be- 
fore  they  part  that  evening,  is'  that  mademoiselle  has  liVed 
niost  of  her  life  in  Rouen  with  a  paternal  aunt,  that  she  has 
visited  Italy,  that  for  the  past  year  or  more  she  has  resided 
in  London,  that  she  speàks  German  and  a  little  Italian,  and 
that  she  does  not  know,  and  never  has  known  a  single  créa- 
ture in  ail  America.  Then  why  is  she  going  there  ?  As  a 
teacher  ?  Hardly  ;  an  indefinable  something  about  her  says 
she  has  a  definite  home  and  purpose  in  viewr,  and  that  she 
does  not  propose  to  earn  her  own  living. 

"Will  you  not  corne  into  the.  saloon,  my  dear,"  Miss  Ha- 
riott  says,  as  darkness  falls  over  the  sea,  and  they  gb  belqw  ;  ' 
"  we  are  to  hâve  an  amateur  concert." 

"  Yes,"  responds  mademoiselle,  with  a  riMue  of  disdain 
that  is  thoroughly  French,  "  a  concert  of  cats.  We  heard 
you  last  night,  and  shut  the  door  to  keep  it  out." 

**  That  must  hâve  been  when  Frank  was  singing/'  responds 
Miss  Hariott.  "  Did  you  hear  Frank  ?  When  he  is  very 
much  excited  he  sings  the  most  and  the  worst  ofary  one 
alive.  It  was  rather  tr3ring,  even  to  nerves  not  too  musical, 
to  hear  him  and  Mrs.  Scarlett  doing  a  duo,  she  shrieking 
soprano,  he  booming  bass.  But  if  you  will  corne  in  to-night, 
I  promise  to  try  and  keep  him  quiet    I  knowr  by  your  face 


yôu  can  sihg.**^ 
**Ye8k  I  am  ông»"  says  Mlle.  Reine.    She  psyiaeswitli 


'iS^SiM,  ii^itmi^iiii^'^&ai'-'.k.^âi 


\  * 


zqir  IN  PORT. 


55 


her  hand  on  Ue  handlc  of  her  door,  and  looks  at  both  witi 

»ays.     but  I  will  promise  you  this.     I  wiU  sing  for  yoû  one 
d^y.^as  often  and  as  long  as  you  ,ike.    A  l^ilZ^Z 

Shedisappears      Miss  Hariott  looks  blanklyat  Dexter. 

Wbat  does^she  mean ?"  she  asks. 
Frank  shrugs  his  shouldek\^ 
"Who  know8?>Don't  ask  m«>      t  ^<.  .    . 

route  for  Baymouth."  !-«-=■■<:  rao  is  m 

JlT'^  "  "i* ,""  '"■=«<•'''<'•"  '=">«>'  ;  bu.  a  thoughtful 
*?do*,com«  slowly  over  M«,  Hario.fs  face.  I.  remab 
th«re  .11  evemng  as  she  si,s  and  kaits  something  wUMwo 
long  needles,  and  a  lap  fnl,  of  rose^„,„„d  and  wWtewoT 
and  not  even  Frank's  con,ic  songs  can  dispel  it  ItT^X 
there  when  she  goes  (o  bed.  •      >•     ^t  M  stui 

|to^^y,aba„dan.  dark  hair  for  U,e  night,  "  i.  would  be  .^^ 

cunous,  and  yet  it  might  be."  ■'^ 

Whatever  her  suspicion  is,  she  tries  next  day,  and  tries  in 

va.„  to  dlscover  if  it  be  correct.     She  asks  n^  dfrect  J! 

Ker  Ski,,  so  >^X'^.U^^:-^^:'^Z  'Tu 
«  fine,  sunny  day.  and  th.y  spend  it  chieSy  on  d«*  and 

-U.  akou.  her.  sheT,:  f^^o^^  ^^onS^Ch 
"^oîy.!^'™"''"  'P"«°f"»  'e-Oency.on.akeyoungwoC 
wiU  let  hioi,  for  it  is  one  of  the  cheeiful  principes  rfZ 


A.i,S(i««rf,^i^JEs 


>_.- 


•m^iL^  )«, 


'I'."' 


■\'i': 


36 


LOSr  IN  PORT. 


witli  Ihe  new  as  rapidly  and  as  frequently  as  possible.  ITtat 
mademoiselle  lîkes  his  spciety  is  évident  ;  that  she  cafés  for' 
the  Society  of  no  other  map  on  board  is  also  évident  ;  and 
Dj&xter,  hugely  flattered,  surrendérs  ^fers.  Scaurlett  eniirely 
fore  the  voyage  ends,  and  lies  all^  day  loUg  Uke  a/trUe 
ight  on  a  railway  rug  at:  his  liège  lady's  feet. 
The  moming  of  the  very  last  day  dawus  ;  befo^e  fïoon  they 
ill  be  in  New  Yo'rk.  AU  is  bustle  and  expectation  on 
ard,  gladness  beams  on  every  face-^n  eveiy^^e  ^except 
at  of  Mlle.  Reine.  She  during  the  last  three  dàj^has  grown 
ave,  and  very  thoughtful,  and  silent.  ""'  . 

"  My  solenm  little  laçly,"    says  Miss  Hariott — it  is   the 
ptain's  invariable  name  for  his  charge,  andshe  has  adopted 
"how  pale  aiM  somber  you  sit.     Are  you  not  glad  it  is 
:o  be  our  last  night  on  board  ?'' 
"No,  madame;  I  am  sorgr." 
*'Sorry,  dearchild?"        ;         ""''.-.r. 
"I  am  going  to  begin  a  new  life,  in  a  new  land,  among 
new  people. — friends  or  foes,  I  know  not  which  yèt.     The 
old  life — ah,  such  a  good  life,  madame  ! — lies  behind  forever  ; 
I  can  never  go  back  to  it.     And  between  that  oH  life  ôf 
yesterday  ând  tbe  new  one  of  to-morrow,  this  voyage  hâs 
been  a  Connecting  link,  a  respite^  a  breathing-spape."^  Now 
it  is  ended,  and  I  must  get  up  and  begin  ail  over  again,  and 
I  am  sorry.     I  am  more  than  sorry — I  am  afraid." 
"Afraid?" 

*'  I  am  going  to  a  home  I  know  nothing  of,  to  a  person  I 
bave  never  seen.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  am  welcome  or 
an  intruder.  I  do  not  know  whether  I  shall  be  kept  or  sent 
<iway.  It  is  the  same  with  my  sister.  Hâve  we  not  reason 
o  be  afraid?" 

she  afraid,  too ?" 
"  Marie  is  not  like  me  ;  she  is  braver,  wiser  ;  she  is  older, 


^lo  be  s 
^      "Is 


and  lias  seen  more  of  people  and  bf  thé  world.  '  No;  my 
sbter  b  not  afraid.    Ferhaps  I  bave  no  reason  to  be  ;  but  ] 


'^~~k'- 


.w 


\ 


LOSr  IN  PORT. 


37 


Vifi  this  voyage  would  go  bn,  and  cri,  and  on.  It  has  beeh 
plèasant,  and  pleasant  things  end  so  soon.  If  to-day  is 
good)^ why  should  we  ever  wish  for  to-morrow  ?" 

Fraèlc  Dexter  is  approaching.  Before  he  cornes,  m^% 
Hanott  ^kes  both  the  girl's  hands,  and  looks  eafnestly  inlo 
the  brownWeet  eyes. 

"Tell  me\his,"  she  says.  "I  suspect  something.  Shall 
w«|  ever  noeet  again?"  '    . 

Mademoiselle  é^iiles,  a  mischievous  Hght  chasiig  fhe  grav- 
i^  froni  her  face.    \  o  ^      »    '^ 

"  I  think  so,  niadah^e."  ' 

"Then  remember  tliis,  my  dear  little  mademoiselle  :  if 
ever  you  are  .n  trouble,  cWie  to  me.  I  hâve  alway^  wànted 
to  be  faiiy  godmother  to  soipebody,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  with 
a  touch  of  her  usuaj  whimsidd  humor;  "let  h  be  to  you 
If  you  ever  want  a  friend,  let  i^^be  that  friend  ;  if  yop  ever 
need  a  home,  corne  to  mine.  I  fëll  i„  love  with  vour  bonnie 
brown  eyes  the  first  moment  they  Idpked  at  me  \  I  am  more  ^ 
m.  love  to-night  than  ever.  Promise>e-*ere  is  Frank- 
promise  me,  my  little  lady."  \ 

"I  promise"   says  Mademoiselle  l^ein^,  and  there  are 
tears  m  the  «bonnie  brown  eyes."     She  leahs  forward  wit# 
a  qmck   graceful,  gesture,  and  touches  her  îips   to  Miss 
Hanott  s  tanned  cheek,  then  turns  and  moves  ra^idly  away: 
just  as  Mr.  Dexter  saunters  up:  ^^ 

inj:^::^'  ^^  :"r^^^  ^^^"  ^^^^^  ^^^>\  an 

couM    »  retorts  Miss  Hariott.     «I  cannot     I  ca^'t  eJn  ^ 
waik  décent ly  m  this  rolling.  steamer.     Here^give  me  yTur 

e^Cote^^"^""^-^^'"-     ^'^^^thearmU 

JplÉl^^^ti^deyotedte.a^obleruse.  1  »ay,  mW  Hariottr^- 

e  you  found  out  where  mademoiselle  is  going  ?  " 

*  And  do  you  suppose  I  would  tell  you  if  I  had?  l  leaw 


^ 


.  *,>. 


'0%  T-... 


,.'3'^*â 


.■%'^-ViF.. 


**» 


16 


Lo^r  /j^r^jfr. 


impertinent  questions  to  Frank  Dexter.  Now  go  awayand 
sîng  yourself  hoarse  with  that  little  purring  passy-cat,  Mf*- 
Scarlett",       ,       * 

"  Thank  ybu,  I  wïV  says  Frank,  and  goes. 
But  when  to-morrow,  the  last  day,  cornes,  he  is  inwardly 
determined  to  discover  the  destination  of  the  nameless  and 
niysterious  little  ladiea.  ;The  invisible  Marie  appears  on 
deckrtall,  slender,  graceful,  but  again— vailed.  She  is  intro- 
duced  to  Miss  Hariott  by  her  sister,  and  bows  and  raurmur» 
a  few  languid,  gracious  words.  Frank  is  not  présented. 
Mademoiselle  Reine  seems  rather  to  wish  to  avoid  hyn,  and 
what  this  younglady  wishes  it  is  évident  she-can  accomplish, 
for  he  hardly  finds  an  opportunity  of  sayipg  six  words  to  her 
ail  day.     "         ,, 

They  reaoh  th^  pier.  ^  To  describe  the  scène  that  cnsues 
is  impossible— the  wild  rush  and  excitement,  the  noise  of 
many  voices,  the  scramble  after  baggage,  the  meeting  of 
friends,  the  going  ashorei,  the  finding  of  hacks.  Frank  has 
to  see  after  his  own  and  Miss  Hariott's  belongings,  to  find  a  ^ 
hackney-carriage  for  that  lady,  and  see  her  safely  off. 

The  "little  ladies"  at  the  beginning  of  the  mê/ég  hâve 
been  conveyed  for  safe  keeping  to  the  captàîn's  rooni;     But 
when,  having  seen.  Miss  Hariott  safely  away,  Dexter  rêtums, 
flushed  and  hot  an^  eager,  he  instantly  makestor  the  captain. 
"  Good-by,  captain,"  he  says,  extending  his  hand,  and 
looking  everywhere;  "I   am  about  the   last,  ara   I   not? 
\Where  are  your  lîttle  ladies  ?  •' 
\    «Gone,  Mr,Frank." 
1    "Gonel     Gonewhere?'* 

i  «Can't  tellyou  that.  A  friend  came  for  theni— a  gen- 
tleman, a  very  fine-Iooking  young  fellow,"  says  the  captain, 
nialice  prepense*in  his  eye,  «and  they  went  away  with  him. 
Wèhave  had  a  rattling  run,haven't  we?  Awfiilly  sorry  to 
Jose>héin  X-Chy^ing  little  ladies,  both.  Mr.  Frank,^^] 


by  to  jfomi^ 


<•• 


M 


W,-^:-!'}:':'    :-'¥:^ 


LONGWORTH  OP  TUE  PHENIX. 


» 


ÇHAPTER  III. 


LONGWORTHOr  TH**PHENIX. 

■■■^  : 

|AR  away  from  the  btfstle  and  uproaT  of  the  New 
York  piers,  sunny  and  sleepy  this  May  day,  the 
town  of  Baymouth  lies  baking  in  the  heat  of  mid- 
afternoon.  It  is  very  warra  ;  Windows  stand  wide,  men  wear 
hnen  coats  and  straw  hats  pulled  far  over  their  eyes,  ladies 
wield  fans  as  they  go  shopping,  and  in  the  office  of  the  Bay^ 
mouth  Phénix,  cveiy  man  of  them,  from  Longworth,  pro- 
pnetor  and  editor-in-chief,  to  the  youngest  and  inkiest  devil, 
is  m  his  shirt-sleeves,and  uncomfortable  *at  that. 

feaymouth  is  in  Massachusetts.     Having  premised  that 
geographical  fect,  it  is  unneccssary  to  add  that  Baymouth  is 
a  town  of  enterprise,  inteUigénce,  industry,  and  eveiy  cardinal 
virtue.    Baymouth  is  a  town  of  white  houses  and  green 
Venetian  blinds,  of  l)eautiful  little  flower-gardens  and  beauti- 
fui  jiraving  dm»,  of  grape^vines  and  orchards  of  bake-shops 
and  book-stores,  of  baked  beans  and  brown  bread  religiously 
every  Sabbath  morning  ;  of  many  and  handsome  churches, 
of  red  brick  public  schools,  of^ovely  wilks  artd  drives,  of 
sociabilrty  and  a  slightly  nasal  accent,  of  literary  culture, 
three  daily  and  two  weekly  papers.    Of  thèse  journals  the 
Phemx  IS  perhaps  the  chief  ;  itâ  editor  is  admitted,  even  by 
men  who  diflFer  from  him  in  politics,  tô  bc  by  ail  odds  the 
"  sinartest"  mah.     The  Phénix  is  the  workipgman's  papei  ; 


it  advocates  reform 


ibuac 


l^Baymotttb^ 


IS  great  m  both  ;  goes  in  for  short  hours  and  half-holidays, 
and  is  the  delight  of  the  operatiT«s.    Worth-Ba^nouth  ii 


''«^^^i^iÔÉ»â*Èa^>â5iwi%-tfcMi     ^»i  ^i  ,'c«A.  r 


4t> 


LomivoitTH  or  thb  phénix.. 


black  and  gnmy,  is  f„ll  of  tanglid  stre«s,  and  big,  urir  brick 
bn,  dmgs,  „i.h  „„„  Windows  than  "is  i;  .he  ki^;."  hous"  " 
Tall  ch^neys  tha.  vomit  black  smoke  aU  day,  and  lSo« 

it  inrid.     Iierce  whistles  go  off  at  noon  and  night  and  men 

sl«ets  to  overâomng,  on  their  way  to  otlier  big  building 

and  the  coal  ,s  on  everything  in  North  Bayniouth-on  gr«i, 

ttat  hatr  ."'"'".'î"'"''''""'  P'*^';  bWhandwmeis 
ntes  t^H  '^"'^  ?■*  "  '^''^  "^^  ""d  ^"on,,  fur. 

coTJ!f  t"*K^  ^"""^  """^  «"S'»^»-  ^  «ver  the  peat 
country  to  which  ,t  .s  proud  to  belong,  and  feids  hundreds 
of  men  women,  ^d  chiidren,  who  might  else  go  h„ng^ 

NorA^Bayn.on.h  is  no.  handsime.  bu.  BayLuth^;p., 
«.  HerW  are  tl,e  dry.goods  stores,  hère  is  pUte-glass  and 
f.ld.ng,  hère  are  wide,  clean,  tree-shaded  streets;  Le  rich 

walk  m  SI*  attu-e,  and  siller  hae  to  spare  ;••  and  hère 
an.ong  other  tall  buildings,  is  the  tall  PkeL  building  wTh 

ro:t^nr°"'  -^^  ^"*^  "^^^  »"  -  *^'^  "^s 

^In  his  sanctum,  in  hi,  editorial  chair,  in  the  sketchv 
^«me  d(st,nctlymenti„ned  before.  sits  Longworth  of  t 

markable^ftat  the  walb  are  fuUer  of  virtuousand  order", 
precepts  than  a  cop.-book     «A  Pii,-  .«.  ^  '^ 

ilun    F™.™  '  '^"CE   FOR  EvEKVTMIHO 

AND    EVEHÏTHINO  IN    m   Placï"   i»  COnspici.OUsIv  nosted. 

above  the  edi.or-s derit.    A  place  for  notUng^d  notbTngt 
«.place  appear,  to  be  the  mie  acted  o^     Ctl^^" 

«rit;  "7"^"  "l""  ■""■  "■ffl^-e»  «"d  boob fa 

clMooe.  lo.fimihm.self  m).  oh«r5,  .tools,  pip,,,  hijf.sSK,k«, 


iVilpWi 


'V     -i'.r  I  1*    "i^- 


LONGWORTH  OF  THE  PHENIX.  41 

cigars,  a  head  of  Clytie  on  a  pedettal  surmounted  by  Mr 

olLTh  %t  ''i^\^^^-'  sn,oki„g-cap,  à  handsome 
plaster  bust  of  Rosa  Bonheur,  which  some  one  h^  improved 
by  a  charcoal  mustache;  heaps  of  letters  brought  by  that 
day  s  afternoon  post  and  not  yet  opened  ;  and  amid  this  con- 

cgar  héld  between  his  teeth,  smoking  and  Writing  with  a  v^st  " 
^ount  of  energy.     For  about  twenty  minutes  L  goes  on 
scrape,  scr^pe,  never  pausing  a  second,  growing  so  absorbed 

W^\    ''h'^'"''^!'^^  cigar  goes  out,  his  face  kind 
bng  as  a  warhorse  m  thelhick  of  the  fighf.  .  Fiiïa^ly,  with  a 
tremendous  ilourish.  he  finishes,  falls  ba.k  in  his'cLair  re! 
moves  h,s  agar,  and  nods  in  a  satisfied  way  at  his  work.  ' 

There  !  says  Mr.  Longworth,  "  that  will  extinguish  that 
consummate  ass  of  the  News  for  this  week,  I  flatter  myself 
Now  or  thèse  books-one,  two,  three,  fo^r,  five  of  thet 
It  is  always  best  to  do  one's  reviewing  before  dinner  ;  hun^rer 
is  apt  to  niake  a  man  clear-sighted  for  httle  literary  failings 
and  sharpens  the  edge  of  the  crîtical  saber.  A  heavy  dinner 
and  a  touch  of  indigestion  are  no  mean  préparations  either. 

O  Su2rn7"*""'  °'  "^^  ''^'''  ^°'  ^'"^^  ^'"  «°  '^-- 

He  raises  his  voicê.     The  eçlitorial  door  opens,  and  a  short. 

stout^man.  wuh  â  pen  in  his  hai^^nda  paper  in  his  Ci 

*  "Didyeeall,  chief?" 

"Here's  that  settler  I  promised  you  for  Doolittle  of  the 
News,    says  Longworth,  handing  him  the  wet  MBS-to- 
morrow^s  /%«.«  leader.     «  Vra  off  in  half  an  hour.  *  Tht    ' 
first  hot  day  always  reduces  my  intellect  to  the  consistency 
of  melted  butter.    JÇnside  pages  printed,  O.?" 
"  Just  gone  down  stairs." 


1  page  Hiade  «pt^* ^ 

"Principal  part  in  type,  sir." 
"Well,  hâve  thi«  set  up  at  once. 


ru  hâve  the  review 


"ii 


-'i    \'f^m^'»~''^'^^ 


42 


LONGWORTH  OF  THE  PHENIX. 


i- 


^m 


column  ready  in  half  an  hour  ;  I  shall  make  short  work  of 
them,  for,1t  is  nearly  dinner-time.  1  must  look  ovef  my 
letters,  too.     Come  back  in  half  an  hour  sharp,  O'Sullivan  " 

«AUright,  chief." 

Mr.  O'Sullivan,  called  usually  in  the  office  by  the  capital 

letter  "  O,"  disappears,  and  Longworth,  taking  up  one  aftet 

anotfter  of  the  pile  of  books,  gives  one  rapid,  keen,  practiced, 

concise  glance  through  the  pages,  notes  the  style,  the  sub- 

ject,  and  if  a  novel,  as  three  of  theni  are,  the  plot,  writes  a 

cntique  of  half  a  dozen  lines  on  each,  damning  one  with 

'*faint  praise,"  mildly  sarcastic  with  another,  sardonically 

facetious  with  a  thûrd,  sneering  cynically  at  afourth,  and  sav- 

a^ly  ferocious  with  the  last.     For,  as  the  thiity  minutes  end, 

and  Mr.  Longworth's  appetite  grows  clamorous,  censorship 

grows  more  àhd  more  intolérant  in  direct  ratio.     It  is  with  a 

weary  gesture  he  pushes  paper,  books,  and  pen  away,  and 

rises  at  last 

A  tall,  fair  man  this  editor  of  the  Baymouth  /5«/|^— a 
man  of  thirty,  with  profuse  blond  beard  and  mustache,  a 
fine,  intellectual  face,  and  handsome  blue  eyes  withalurking 
suspicion  of  humgr  in  them— on  the  whole,  a  welMooking, 
stately,  and  rather  distingui&hed  man. 

The  doors  open  ;  his  second  in  command,  O'Sullivan,  en- 
ters,  bears  off  the  scathing  review,  and  vanishes.  Longworth 
tosses  over  his  ietters,  on  office  business  chiefly,  glances  , 
through  them  with  the  same  rapid,  comprehensive  glance  h« 
has  given  the  books,  throws  most  of  them  into  the  ^aste^pa- 
per  basket,  and  out  of  the  sheaf  keeps  only  two.  One  of  thèse 
is  in  a  lady^  hand;  this  he  naturally  reads  first,  and  as  he 
fcads  a  pleased  expression  cornes  into  his  face— a  face  that 
can  be  as  expressibnless  as  a  dead  wall,  when  he  wills. 

«  H'm  1  "  he  thinks,  "  that  tt  well.     She  will  be  hère  before 
the  end  of  the  week.    lamgladofit     Don* t  know  any  one 


^'««^  York,  and  travel  down  with  her," 


>•-(: 


■^^^^iî'^îi^'^^h^^^hfh^K 


.  'iiiàm-Mià'iiiâÉà 


l  y*    -^"  -.-«■    sî   »r  *\^>>'  f^"' 


,''T#'  " 


'.î^'--. 


^ 


'...■*'■ 


LONGWORTH  OF  THE  PHENIlèpl^^ 

He  looks  at  the  second,  pauses  in  the  act  of  o|)ening^  knib 
his  brows,  turns  it  over,  examines  the  superscriplion,  as  we 
ail  insanely  do  with  a  letter  that  puzzles  us. 

"  Odd,"  he  muttérs  ;  «  what  can  he  hâve  tosay  at  this  late 
day  ?     I  never  expected  to  see  his  chirography  again."    -     , 

He  breaks  it  op«i,  and  reads— reads  once,  twice,  and  yet 
a  third  tinie.  i 

"Private  and  Confidential^'        * 

"MÀCON,  Ga.,  Maystjl», 
«  Dear  Mr.  Latoencb  î  I  bave  been  meditating  f«  some  time  W 
dropping  you  a  line  and  a  hint-a  hint,  no  more.     Mrs.  Dexter  is  a 
shrewd  little  woman  in  her  way,  but  I  think  Mrs.  Dexter  qiade  a  mistake^ 
m  persuading  Mr.  Longworth  to  scnd  Mr.  Frank  abroad.     The  old  gen- 
tleman  bas  broken  greatly  of  late,  and  whatever  attachmcnt  he  nnyhave 
had  to  the  lad  (and  it  never  was  very  slrong)  absence  bas  weakened. 
Moïe  than  once  of  late  he  has  spoken  of  you,  arfd  aiways  wUh  a  touchof 
regret.     He  was  ypry  fond  of  you,  Mr.  Laurenc-s,  and  very  prond  of  you 
— he  has  nèver  been  either  of  young  Dexter.     What  I  wish  to  say  is 
this:  Can  you  not  by  some  happy  chance  find  yourself  in  this  nelghbor- 
hood  shortly,  on  newspaper  or  lecturing  business,  let  us  say  ?    It  would 
be  worth  while  to  take  the  trip.     One  word  from  you  would  Mot  out  the 
whole  unfortunate  past,  and  replace  you  in  your  uncle's  regard      WiU 
you  #ine  and  say  that  word  ?    Dexter  wUl  be  at  home  in  about  a  month  • 
after  that  it  may  be  too  late.  ' 

"  This,  of  course,  is  as  unbusiness-Iike  a  letter  as  it  is  possible  to  write. 
Also,  of  course,  I  would  never  write  it  did  I  not  know  well  of  old  the 
manner  of  man  you  are.  Yours,  etc. ,  * 

"Thomas  Chapman.'* 

Longworth  goes  through  thisepistle  for  the  third  time  with 
an  unchanging  face,  then  slowly  and  thoughtfuMy  tears  it  in 
little  pièces,  and  conaigns  it,  in  a  white  drift,  to  the  waste-bask. 
et.  There  is  rather  a  grim  smUe  on  his  face  as  he  puts  on  his 
coat  . 

"  Thcy  do-welhwho  paint  rorftmëlû-âwôffiânTTwlhînka. 
"She's  a  jade  no  man  cart  trust,  ready  to  kick  you  to-day 
and  kiss  you  to.morrow  ;  ready  to  flout  you  when  you  court 


-^'- 


1.  ' ,  : 


i^'  4 


^ 


^.J 


h  '^Aïk      .     ^  V- 


■■M 


r\ 


I  ■ 


■ 


44 


L02/GW0RTH  OF  THE  PHENIX, 


her,  and  %wn  upon  you  when  you  snap  your.finger  iij  her 
face.     Very  like  a  woman,  every  way  you  take  her." 

Fifom  which  cynical  soliloquy  itmay  reasonably  beinferred 
that/Mr.  Longworth's  expérience  of  the  fairer  sex,  in  spite 
of  his  good  looks,  has  been  unfortunate.  He  puts  on  his  hat, 
an^m  the  yellow,  tranquil  evening,  gbes  home.  His  way 
hes  through  pleasant,  elm-shaded  streets,  and  as  he  goes  o^* 
leaving  the  noise  and  jar  of  the  town  far  behind,  there  cornes 
to  him,  mingled  with  the  fragrance  of  migwjnette  in  the  gar- 
dens  he  passes,  the  sait  breath^thesea.'  *  : 

-  Baymouth  is  a  seaport  ;  many  ships  sai)  into  its  wide  har- 
bor;  its  wharves  and  docks  ring  with  the  tide  of  commerce, 
and  presently  they  corne  in  view,  ridingon  the  shming  bosom 
ofthebay.     n  ^ 

Men  nod  or  stop  to  speak  to  him  in  passing,  ladies  smile  and 
bow— he  is  a  man  of  note  in  the  town  ;  but  his  face  keeps  a 
look  of  reflective  gravity  ail  the  way.     The  hinl  in  the  letter 
he  has  just  destroyed  is  no  trivial  one^a  noble  inheritance 
hangs  on  it,     He  knows  Chapman,  shrewd  lawyer  and  keen- 
«ghted  business  man  tflathe  is,  means  more  than  meets  the 
eye— has  mad^  certain  of  his  ground  before  issuing  t;jiat  eau- 
tious  "hint.",  \He  has  been  for  years  the  légal  adviser  of  his 
uncle.     Is  it  at  that  uncle's  désire  he  writes  now  ?    Long  ago 
Laur<^nce  Longworth  gave  that  uncle  deadly  offense,  and  lost 
a  fortune.     Thkn  that*u)icle  no  propder  man  exists  on  earth  ; 
beyoïid  this  hint  dropped  by  his  attorney,  his  nephew  knows 
he  wdl  never  go.    And  in  a  month  Pexter  wUl  be  at  home, 
and  it  may  be  toc  late. 

"  Poor  old  boy  I  "  Longworth  musses— meaning  hislincle, 
not  Dexter—"  what  a  trump  he  used  to  be—what  a  prince's 
life  I  led  of  it— what  a  prince's  iife  I  might  go  back.  to  I  It 
is  rather  hard  on  Frank,  though,  to  hold  a  fortune  and  favor 
by  only  a  hair." 


i 


-ttcTeacfiêi  à  lârgç  whfte  housè,  with  manygreën  shuttera, 
and  a  piazza  or  "stoop"  running  ail  along  the  front.    It 


€ 


i' '>,t:%,fc5'  AiYM*''-'t  '»>M'*6i'^' 


.»:iï^f'/îM,'- 


M  - 


LONG WORTH  OF  THE  PHENIX,  45 

facçs  the  <ea,  and  from  tbis  stoop,  upon  whictf#icker  chairs 
are  scattçred,  there  spreads  a  view  of  the  bay,  glistening  in 
the  sunset,  with  vessels  at  anchôr  and  many  boats  glidinf 
about.  The  sweet  sait  wind  blows  in  his  face,  and  stirs  a 
grça.  honeysuckle  that  twines  itself  over  tlje  pitars.  Climb- 
mg  roses  in  pink  clusters  hang  hère,  two  or  three  laigé*  rose 
of  Sharon  trees  in  the  grass-plot  in  front  are  in  full  leaf 
alfeady.  A.  pretty  place— such  a  place/as  one  sees  everv- 
-whefe  in  New  England. 

Mr.  Lo^g^rth  in  his  day-bui  it  is  a  day  far  gone,  when 
he  was  vers,  youngf,  and  knew  no  better-has  been  a  poet 
has  wntten  and  published  a  volume  of  verses.     It  is  one  of 
rhose  juvénile  indiscrétions  of  which  we  ail  raay  haVe  been 
ginlty  m  différent  forms,  and  of  which  in  our  riper  years  we 
are  properly  ashained.     But,  having  been  capable  of  poetic 
folly  once,  -a  litM'-,  a  verylittle,  of  the  old  leaven  lingers,  and 
IJi^çs  this  hard-headed,  clear-sighted  editor  and  mercUess 
reviéwer  a  keen  enjoyment  of  ail  that  is  exquisite  in  nature. 
It  is  i^nalloyed  pleasure  and  rest,  for  example,  to  sit  on  this 
piazza,^^with  the  sensuous  sweetness  of  the  honeysuckle  and 
roses  abçut  him,  the  saline  freshness  blowing  in  his  face,  and 
watch  thfe  bay  yonder  dimpling  and  blushing  in  the  good- 
night  k,ss  of  the  Sun.     He  takes  one  of  the  wicker  chairs, 
tilts  it  back,  hghts  a  cigar-he  smokes  as  many  cigars  as  a 
Guban-elevates  the  editorial  legs  on  the  railing.  where  the 
roses  twine  aroundhis  boots,  folds  his  arms,  and  prépares  to 
think  ,t  out:    To  throw  the  Phénix,  the  prïde  of  his  heart 
and  the  apple  of  his  eye,  to  the  dogs-lto  be  a  millionaife  or 
not  ^a  milhonaire,  that  is  the  question  ;  and,  strange  to  say 
in  this  âge  of  Golden  Calf  worship,  Longworth  actually 
thmks  it  worth  debating.  . 

The  white  house  behind  him  is  very  stilk    The  halMoor 


•4 


Mapàs.  widc,  ther«  i»  «r  vistahrf^ony  capêfëT  hàn,lï 
piô^ure  on  each  side,  a  hat  rack  adorned  with  many  hats,  and 
B  wtdfe  stairway.    No  sound  reaches  him  from  withîn  ;  but  m 


(1 


h 


,     l'^^p'^Jï-il-^    ,.■   ;|i^.  !■,.   ,V,   ■>■.;.-      . 


^rv- 


^i^^f.^ 


46 


'^LONGWORTa  OF  THE  PHEmX, 


II,/ 


he  sits  ari'd  smokes,  somé  one  descends  ;he  stairs,  cpiuei 
towards  the  open  door,  sèes;  hiip,  .aftproaches,  aod  lays  a 
very  M^,  very  plump,  very.ringed  hand,  on  his  shbulder. 
"  Larjiy,"  says  a  soft  voice. 

*  It  is  a  young  lady-^well,  not  very  young  either-r^ight  and 
twenty  perhap8,.and  looking  every  day  of  it,  chiefly  becaufe 
.    she  is  so  luxuriously  developed.     Fat  is.  nor  a  word  to  be 
applied  to  a  young  lady,  and  if' one  says  inclined  to  enibon. 
point,  one  does  not  do  the  truth  strict  justice.     She  is  tall/ 
there  is  not  an  angle  anywhère  about  her  ;  she  has  abun-^ 
dance-  of  palçst  flaxen  hair.     She  has  two  râther  small,  rather 
hght,  rather  lazy  blue  eyes.     She  has  a  complexion  like  a 
bab/s,  mUk-white,  satin-âniooth,'  and  she  is  dressed  in  white, 
r  knot  oÇ  pale  bluf  ribbon  in  her  hair,  a  cluster  of  pale  pink 
•oses  in  her.breast.  <  '         .  v  ' 

"Ah— d'ye  do,  Tôt?"  says  Longworth,glaiicingcareléss. 
iy  over  his  shoulder.  «  Infertiàlly— I  beg,  yiàur  pardon— 
excessively  hot,  isn't  it  ?  Those  merciless  tyr^ints,  the  print- 
ers,  kept  nie.at  my  desk,  shrifcking  for  copy,.until,  between 
the  beat  and  the  mental  pressure,  I  became  reduced  tô  the 
State  of  a—ah,  a  wilted  lily.  I  resemble  a  wilted  lily,  don't  * 
I?"  inquires  Mr.  Longworth,  glancing  over  his  shoulder 
agaim 

"ph,  yes,  very  like  a  lily,"  replies  the  young  lady,  laugh- 
ing  languidly.  "  Are  you  gqing  to  Emma  Harris's  birthday 
réception  to-night ?" 

"  CouMn't— couldn't  possjbly.  You  raight  knock  me  over 
w»tlî  a  teather  now,  so  utterly  prostrate  am  I.  People 
shouldn't  hâve  birthdays  during  the  summer  8ol3tice." 

"People  can't  help  being  born,  I  suppose,"  retorts  the 
young  lady,  cavalierly  addrcssed  as  "  Tôt,"  with  some  indiJ^  • 
nation.  '        ^À 

__!iPeoplt  flngattq  Afift  it,"-  dogifiatMiy  pewwtH^ttrlboiiy^ 
Wùt%  who  never  aUows  himself  to  be.contradicted,  on  pri» 
dple;  «and  if  they  are  obstinate,  and  won't,  tfaey  sboiiidnl 


\ 


m. 


^^^^^ 


LOlfpWORTSr  OP  THE  PBEiràx,  47 

«q>ict  otb^er  people  to  victimize  themselves  on  accôunt  of  it. 
.        1  ottV,  I  am  hungry  ;  is  dinner  nearly  ready  ?  "    , 

\Zt  ^in"er  hour  is  haif-past  six.  you  ought.to  know  by 
this  rfme,  Mr.  Longworth,  uniess  yesterday's  trip  to  Boston 
has  m^paired  your  memoTy.»  says  another  voice,  and  another 

ady  i^resents  herself,  so  like  the  first,  with  an  additionai 

•  ^r^  "^^^\*^'  y^^  d<>  «ot  need  to.look  twice  to 
know  they  are  mother  and  daughter.  "What  is  this  Mr. 
O  Sullivan  18  saying  about  your  going  off  to^ew  York  to- 
niorrow  r 

ftôlfhr  t'ï'^  '  ""T  '    '  ™  "•"  '"  '■"Pf'r"^^  ail  ,he 
ftought,j,h.ch  pas,  throogh  the  gigantic  mind  of  the  O-Sul 
livan.    What  does  he  say  ?  " 

^     "Tbat  you  are  going  to  New  York  to-morrow" 
"  So  I  am.*' 

"  On  business  ?" 

",On  business." 

" How  long  shall  you  be  gone ?"  . 

"  Three  days."^ 

«MU^f  ^  Ti^!*'  ,?^  ^'^  ^°"'"  '*>^'  '"^«^^y'  Plaintiveiy. 
Mamm^  would  ,t  be  improper  for  me  to  go  to  New  York 
with  Larry,  and  corne  back  with  him ?" 

.C^J^'T'V'^^'T''^  ^"^^  ^""'"y  ^^™^«ïf'  "not  tobe 

tionSt^  ^^'^'^"^«^^"bers  are  moral  people~the  ci,x:ula- 

,  .on  of  the  Phentcf  would  go  down  to  zéro  if  they  beard  of 

such  glanng  mimorality."  -       .  /  -^    «  "« 

';  But  they  need  not  hear  of  it.»  ^ays  Totty,  still  more 
plamtively;  "and  three  days  is  such  a  very  litd;  while  Î 
want  to  go  shopping  to  Stew^'s.  and  they  are  still  having 
lUhanop^atthcAcademy.  It  wouldn't  be  .ny  harm! 
mamma— ifs— oiily  Larry;  '  .     , 

"  Hei^  jg  Mrt».  Windso,^"  jntcmii^a  hrr  mothcy  with  suj. 


wL::''^^"^^'""^'^^^^^'    Iwond47L^ 
Windror  would  say  if  sheheard  you.»'        ;«  -  t      ^* 


■"^a-f"^'-''' 


48 


LONGWORTH  ÔF  THE  PHENIX. 


i"  What  Mrs.  Windsor  says  is  not  an  act  of  Congress,"  re- 
:     plies  Totty.     "  She  would  go  with  Larry  to  New  York  fast 
enough,  or  anywhere  else,  if  he  asked  her." 

Ail  this  tinie  Mr.^ongworth  has  been  placidly  smoking 
and  watching  what  is  going  çn  at  the  gâte.  -A  low  phaeton 
and  a  pair  of  well-matched  grays,  driven  by  a  black  boy, 
havécome  down  the  street  and  drawn  up  before  the  house. 
In  the  carnage  reclines  a  lady.  The  black  boy  assists  her 
to  alight^and  she  enters  the  gâte  and  approaches  the  ^oup 
on  the  piazza.  She  is  a  lady  of  fylly  sixty  years,  but  stately, 
handsome,  and  upright,  with  a  certain  pride  and  majesty  ol 
bearing,  very  richly  dressed  in  dark,  soundless  silk,  a  verita 
ble  cashmere  trailing  more  like  drapery  than  like  a  shawl 
over  her  shouldors  and  fiowing  skirts. 

"  Looks  like  one  of  Kneller's  or  Sir  JosKua  Reynolds' 
court  ladies,"  niurmurs  Longworth;  "makes  a  picture  of 
herself  always.     Don't  know  any  one,  anywhere,  such  thor- 
oughly  good  *  form  '  as  Mrs.  Windsor." 
Totty  shrugs  her  plump  shoulders. 

"Why  don't  you.tell  her  so  ?    There  is  no  one  living* 
whose  good  opinion  Mrs.  Windsor  values  a$  she  does  youfs. 
You  are  the  only  nian  on  earth  who  would  darc  to  tell  her 
she  looked  well.     And  you  know  it." 

Longworth  smiles.  He  would  be  ^ething  less  than 
man  if  he  did  not  know  the  women  wfe)  like  him.  And 
Longworth  is  thoroughly  a  man,  and  a  man  of  the 
world. 

He  rises  as  this  stately  and  dîstinguished  new-comer  as- 
cends  the  steps,  throws  away  his  cigar,  and  takes  ofT  his  hat. 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Windsor,"  begiijs  the  lady  of  the  house, 
advancing  with  efl&ision,  "so  very  pleased  to  see  you.  I 
heard  only  yesterday  you  were  back.  When  did  yoû  return 
froi^  Washington  ?" 

— ^hitirciïceirhoraea:^eefc"Yôu  weio^ 
T  '^ngworth,  but  then  I  think  you  always  do.    Mrs.  She)|jk>n  " 


.-»     >,vs^j*îi.-^èf*frVaSi*«pj.'^ 


■■M^ 


LONGlVOtlTff  OF  THE  PHENIX. 


49 


\;    (to  Totty),  you  gfow  a  vèry   Hebé      Aht  lur     t 

happy  to  meet  vou     Th.„  *  i^  '  ^'■-  Laurence, 

«arble.     Her  voice  is  low^a  -^^ed'^^      "  ^"""'^  «•""^ 
courteous,  cold  as  ice      Th«  u  voice-smooth, 

Mrs  Windsor?"  •^^"  '  'i''  »"y"»"g  for  you  ehere, 

ladies'  commissions.     Mrs    Sh'dofr'' *'""™"" ''""'" 
Miss  Harris'é  fére  to-nigllr?"  '      '""'"''"  •^'"'  8°  '°  • 

^J  Yes,  I  .hink  so,  Mrs.  Windsor-màmma  and  I.     ShaU 

Mr^Windsor  raises  her  eyebrows  slightly. 
-n.an^^yôrkr;  aLt'.M  "  ,^"'°"-     '  '^''  »  o" 
myi^  and  „S,r.  '  *"'  -iver^ries  by  one', 

«o- yo„r  nama  «roft™  iT        '  ^'"S'o^:  "and  we 
tonreceD.i™,n?  """'""  ^'P»'  Washing. 

.i«l^«^'^r^»„^tT:■'''°"«''•  "-^^PWoffersattni. 

t^Noi  Totty  rt„„  n»ke  my  excu«^     What  y„„  „, 


^ 


,JJL 


lii 


■'■% 


I  shall 


50  LONGWORTH  OF  THE  PHENIX. 

about  gray  hairs  and  wrinkles  is  eminentljr  true. 
stay  at  home  and  count  mine."  i, 

She  smiles. 

*'  Vou  hâve  no  other  engagement  ?"  * 

"None." 

JJ^t""  '^^  '"r  '"^^  ^^'''''  -°  *^°"^^  ^"^  ^°""t  the  wrinkles 

go  fo  New  York,  on  a  matter  of-business  "  • 

hi^l^  ^rr''/  T"'^  ^^^^'^   *^"  ^^^^  ^«'•<ï  ^"d  looks  at 
Inm  as  if  afraid  of  refusai.    Longworth,  however,  does  noi 

WJnH   '^^"t^  I"^,  Pleasantest  evenings  at  your  hôuse,  Mrs. 
Wmdsor.    I  shall  be  glad  to  go." 

^^Sh^e  draws  a  quick   breath,  'as   of   relief,  and    turns  to 

"I  shall  expect  you  then.     Perhaps,  fhough,  you  will  let 
me  take  you  with  me  at  once  ?" 

do'?îf°'  "°'''  ^  ^^^"  Présent  myself  about  eight     Will  that 

"Certainly.  Good  evening,  .Mrs.  Longworth.  Howisit 
you  never  come  to  see  me  now ?" 

"  Many  commercial  gentlemen  and  much  gravy  weiffh  on 
her  mmd,"  suggests  Longworth.  «'as  they  m'STonlï  the 
successors  of  the  immortal  M.  Todgers." 

For  this  rose-wreathed  white  house,'  facing  theV.  is  a 
boardmg-house  and  Mrs.  Longworth,  wido,|,and  a  d  stant 
cousm  of  the  edUor  of  the  Phénix,  the  ladyTho  keeps  it.  ' 
Mrs.  Wmdsor  does  not  know  "  M.  Todgers  ;"  she  is  not 
a  lady  addicted  to  novel-reading  of  any  sort,  but"  she  smiler 
fndTwr"'"'^"  ''™"'^  "  Longworth's.  ,nd  slowly  . 


nQJinufiual-thingforMr8.^Win^^f^lw^ 


Lariy. 


LONGWORTff  OP  THE  PHENIX. 


•  "5?^t::s:::5:  ■:-?— 
a  circle  „f  board  Ji/feew^fe:  L?  ™"«  »-tf^-  -""  ' 

■^    •»«  v^o      u      ,         «»^  L.C  waiting,  he  is  never  in  a  hurr,, 

.  remarkable  if  I  rprA.V^^  .        r  J      ï"»nKs.        it  would  be 
More  renurfawrsm    f    r      ,  °"""'''  '"■^^=?  '"  O"'  «^X- 

«en  belter  days,  offers  an  th.  ^^  ^°^^^  *'"'  '"'« 

ail...  There  are  t^o  or  twT;  k  l  *"""  '"'^'•'''"  i" 
The  Salie  ,aw  s  enJot^  îf ?  î  ""'^  "' ^^^^P"°"«- 
Spartan  rule.  Mr  Mesl^.^'",?-  ""«'\8«'"'''»«  are  ,he 
«te,  sometime  eraduateif  M  ^""'T'.'"'^''"!''^  "'  ">»  ^-S'-      - 

gentlemen  like  to  sit  .^7     t  *  P'olonged  meal  ;  the    1 

roo™,  fte  sea-bree.es  isecoo^i^dir'?'  """''  ™'°  *« 
of  .he  honeysuctle  «e^er  a^H  ^    f  """'  *"^  *<=  «=«'>• 

^  away  .h^e  ^in^  soteX.' t^  o„  r'^ 

a  new  spring  moon  shines  in  a,e  *v_l„.T.,  *  """'''        ' 


«atheshore.     Longworth  hes  back  in  bis  chair  in  true 


*„     ^  -^      \     '■j    W*>4, 


%  ♦ 


i~;^!sàin^«iè>. 


..f'y'4 


S2 


LONGWORTH  OF  THE  RHENIX. 


after-dinner  mood,  dreamy  and  indolent,  dips  his  walnuls-ia 
his  wine,  lîstens  to  the  other  men,  but  does  not  talk  m'«ch. 
Presently  the  laughter  and  jokes— very  elderly  jokes  some 
of  them— grow  tiresome,  and  he  ri^es  and  returns  to  his 
former  place  and  position  on  the  piazza.  The  board^rs  Ait 
in  and  out,  onè  of  two  of  the  ladies  are  good  enough  to  sit 
beside  him  and  rally  him  on  hiâ  thoughtfulness.  But  Long- 
worth's  moods  are  well  known,  and  as  a  riile  respécted,  in 
this  sélect  boardiiig^house. 

"Larry/'says  M>s.  îotty  Sheldon,  coming  out  in  her 
niuslin  dress  and  pink  rosés,  and  looking  cool  and  white  in 
the  faint  light,  "is  it  not  time  you  were  keeping  your  ao- 
poijjtnient?"      »» 

"Mr.    LongwWrth  an   appointment,"     cries  a  vivacious 
•  young  ma^tron  ;  "  that  acounts  for  his  silent  inçivility.     With 
a  lady,  I  bet." 

"  With  a  lady,"  answers  Totty  ;  «  only  a  quarter  of  eight, 
Larry,  and  she  is  not  a  lady  to  be  kept  waiting."  , 

Longworth  rises.  still  with  the  dreamy  laziness  of  aftèi^ 
dinner  upon  him,  picks  up  his  htt,  aud  strolls  ofiF,  without  ' 
paymg  the  slightest  attention  to  the  fair  créatures  around 
him.     The  volatile  littre  matron,  who  is  a  bride,  and  pretty, 
and  used  to  attention,  looks  piqued. 

"Odd    man,  your  cousin,    Mrs.    Sheldon,"     she    says  • 

"sometimes  so  silent  and  glum,  at  others  perfectly  charming 

to  hsten  or  talk  to.     He  is  your  cousin,  is  he  not  ?  "  • 

"His  fether  and  mine  were,"  Mrs.  Sheldon  answers.     . 

"And  he  and   Totty  came  very  near   being  sométhirig 

neater  and  dearer  thàn  second  cousins,"  inteïpoges  an  old 

^tron  ;  "only  Totty  threw  him  over.for  Mr.  Sfie|doû."   * 

V^"Didyou,  really?"  says  the  bride,  looking ^^Micç^f 

•lisly.     "  He  does  not  sepm  like  Oie  sort  of  m^  one  c^u^  « 

throwover.    How  had  you  the  courage  ?   Such  a  hi»>Hc;.T,ft 


1 


\\..''' 


I 

d 


JB 


and  cievèrTelTow?  " 

"  We  were  only  children,"  says  Totty,  in  a  low  nucci  |^  \ 


m 


1:^   '- 


LOmwORTH  OP  THE  PHENIX.  SJ 

nothing  but  âbÔy ..  ""  ""'''  *  """  8*"'  «»d  Laro- 

•Le."        """"»«•-'»«"<»  "f  «andm^  chattering  n«„en« 
Jotty   bites  her  lips,  but   obeys.     Twem;-d^h./.L  ' 

J«.  Longworéh  .„„,  ^.h  so^e  aoerbity.  ,^  ,be  ;„„^ 
««  -T^  ''°"''  '"'"''  •"  '""  ''8>'»'  M"-  Beckwith"  she 

^h  a/;:;  zir^er  ï  *'r°''^  ■«'""-  «"^^ 

don't  «n_r       ,  8l«er  years  âgo,  but  it  vas  only  foll.      I 

^o'tS^rlliT"'  ■»"«"8-"en  distanlZiri,^ 
i^on  i  speak  of  it  in  his  présence,  I  beg  '>  -^-v^^ns. 

J..  .Mer  matron  laughs  softiy  aod'significitly  ,o  h.r. 

f,  The  younger  mafr^r^oks  puzzled.  ^' 

"So»ething  queer  herè^"  shethinlr»   *«r         j 
Longworth  likes  to  stay"     But  «h?     ^    '  ',  '^°»d*^'  Mr. 
«Oh,  certain  noî"  t^A  II     \^^^  ^f^  *"^  ^^^^ 
departedwithL^n::ti:go:st™  ""' "^  "^  "^ 

â;^^^  ^^^^-«^ 

fron  r^iling  and  t.o  tfll^^^S.^?  SJ'"  ^^ ^^g^^  ^^^ 


indexa  K^ks^m.;  a  p;;;^  rz'iSîS^i.  ^^ 

^.luU  9f  large  trees.  ^        •         "  «««ensive^ 


/&, 


-s4 


"•"'""'  ■•;■.■-■  :  ■  ■ .- , ':,v':  -V  *  ■  :'"■■ 


54  ^aS  STORY  OP  THE  STONE  HOUSÊ. 

\  ,  *        "      ' 

He  ehters,,an<?  goes  up  a  gravel  walk,  broad  and  well  kept,, 
trees  meeting  overhead  andmaking  the  darkness  blacknesJ^ 
^rom  this  arcade  he  émerges  into  an  open  space,  the  grajs 
close-clipped  and  dotted  with  little  beds  of  flo wers. 
^^  A  daxk,  large  house  looms  up,.witli  ligbts  shiningVrom 
its  windp^s,  abd  a  glass  arch  over  the  hall  doors.     He 
glances  at  two  Windows  to  the  right;   thrbugh  thèse  the 
lamphghtshmes,  red  and  comfortable,  through  lace  curtains. 
and^seems  to  welcome  him  even  before  lie  enters.     A  large 
old^fashioned  brass  knocker  is  on  the  door  ;  he  lifts  this  and 
knocks  loudly. 


K  ( 


J^ 


CH^TTER  IV. 

THE   STOWr^  THE    STONE   HOUSE. 

BHILE  R%/f^ngworth  knocks  and  waits  in  the  star- 
hght  t^be  admitted,  a  word  may  be  said  of  this 
house^^fnd  the  lady  who  bwns  it 
It  basa  nanfte  and  a  histoiy,  and  is  perhaps  the'only  house 
m  Êaymoutl.  that  bas  either.    It  is  called  the  Stone  House 
Many  year^  back  there  came  over  frqm  England  a  man 
named  Wliham  Windsor,  a  sturdy  and  thrifly  yeoman,  toléra- 
•  bly  wèlUo-do  at  home,  and  resolute  to  make  a  fortune  in  the 
colonies     He  chose  New  England,  got  a  grant  of  land,  built 
a  log  cabin,  shot  Indians,  tiUed  the  soil,  and  led  a  busy  life 
ont.     rime  passed;  the  révolution  began,  and  this  English- 
man  shouldered  his  musket  and  took  the  sîde  of  the  colonies 
•«ainst  the  king.   The  war  ended,  and  though  Master  William 
Windsor  left  a  leg  and  one  arm  on  the  field  of  glory,  he^ 
-rcraffi^er satisfied,  for  another  grant  ofland  had-bew 
awarded  him,  and  ail  about  his  dwelling  for  many  and  many 


'«' J, 


;;^.'i''4iSfcV-"-. 


ras  STOKY  OF  THE  STOlfE  MOUSB.  J5 

•      J  mne  was  his     Thinking  i,  „ot  well  for  man  to  be  alone 

&«  a«d  a»ay  too  patriodc  to  refose  a  o„e-legged  hero-rcared 

.11  its  strength  and  stateliness  by  his  eldest  son.     Then  he 
d«d  ^d_was  g«hered  to  his  fathers,  and  years  went  on  and 
Itoymoulh  gre«r  and  prospered,  and  the  Windsors  with  it,  and 
they  w^re  the  wealthiest  and  oldest  family  i„  aU  <he  towb 
Mills  a»d  manufactories  arose  on  their  lamJ,-ioble  tiD>be^ 

b^sitJr'  ""''*"  '^'""^^  "■=«'  "'  fa^ersnorao^, 
bnt  s,t  at  home  at  ease  and  let  their  income  flow  in  like  â 
golden  nvâ-.  Nobody  knew  exactiy  ho«r  rich  the  last  Henry 
Wndsor  „as  whenhe  bec..n>e  «.aster,  but  enormously.  ever^ 
body  said  He  raarried  a  young  lady  of  Boston,  one  of  t7e 
fairest  of  ail  «s  fair  daughters.  proud  and  «pliiled  as  a  young 
queen,  and  broUght  her  home  to  the  Stone  House 

bo™",^  ^''*="  "««  bo™.  only.t™.     Mrs.  Windsor  was 
born  to  be  a  raother  of  sons,  and  knew  it,  and  «-as  intense^ 
-d,sap^.nted  to  find  the  younger  of  thèse  two  only  TZ 
G.rls  be,„g  one  of  the  evils  of  this  life  tha.  cannot  L  c„^' 
and  mus.  be  endured,  the  lady  of  the  Stone  House  accepSd 
her  fate,  bu.  b.tterly  and  Hmder  protest  to  the  end.     ToT„ 
son  .he  gave  love,  Io,-,lly  and  libe^Uy  and  lavUhly,  ««.ou. 
«m.  or  measure;  .o  her  daughter,   almost  inifferenee 
They  grew  up;  the  son  wen.  to  Harvard,  the  daughter  r. 
fash.o„able  boarding-sohool  in  New  York.     Both  C  done 

the  son  was  élever,  and  though  brains  are  a  superfluity  in  t^é 
only  son  of  a  nch  man,  it  still  pleased  his  mother  that  he  h^ 


"é 


who  „nved  m  Baymouth  one  day,  and  soaght  .7intL« 
«A  Jlip.  Wmdwr.     He  was- .  Frenchm«,, \u  .«une  Mo»  ' 


>i 


K'^ 


JSi        ^      -» 


Sf^  ^^  4».V  ^  \ 


\v  - 


Hi*avi,,<i:(iM^ 


'  J    '    •     /"  <-  , 


k 


r^B  STORV  OF  THE  STONEaoUSE, 


■X 


He  sa.  and  «laréd  a7,ftl  '^    °^J""'"  '"  '™  *»«■>«»• 

woundedpride.     ,,         '  '*'^°^"  ^""e  with  passion  and 

shoced  *aLc;L;^*:,.r,:«7^:r„r:i 

*a.Lov.laughsa.Utah,     Cn  M*  Th""  '™'"" 
on  .be  spot  he  fonnH  hi.  ^:   t.     .  '  "^'"«Isor  arrived 

no.  b«  wor.h  .hehZ  .It.  1  ;l'^"'''P<''^'«  '"™M 
K-f  j  "^ng.  that  theyhad  been  marrie  1  ti«  ^- 

b^re.  and  would  «il  i„  a„  hou,  by  .he  Ha~.«er     ' 

Mr.  Windsor  rehirned  home.    How  bitter  ,hl  hl      W 
.w^hangh.,  a^d  in.peri..s  P^rn^rr^Tg^: 

-K.u;er»,:.Xh"  pÏÏaîone"  T  "'""*  ■^'''"  *« 


/      oie,  ûer  .lortta..  m  oU,  her  photographi,  book^ 


-fï 


.Vf'' 


JÊÊÊk 


r^  STOXY  OF  THE  STONE  HOUSE.  57 

4^wi„g«  bunied.    She  was  not  tp  be  as  a  daughter  deaxL 
but  as  a  daughter  who  had  never  existed. 

Three  years  later  Mr.  Windsor  died,  and  handsome  George 
was  master  of  the  Stone  House.    Hewaaa  fair-hairedyoufg 

heart-^Wue-eyed,  stalwart,  sunny-faceS  as  a  young  Norse 

^t^.      A  Tk       '''°''  ''^^^  *^"  ^^^"'"g  °f  his^mother^he 
was  her  idol,  the  Me  of  her  life.     AU  the  love  of  her  soûl  she 

^ve  him,  and  George,  in  careless  young  man^iashion,  was 

1£?  *'**^^^  *"^  handsome  mother. 

«One  night-joh,  darkand  terrible  night,  never  tobe  forgot- 
ÇhtrlT*  «f  «>«  drifted  on  some  sunken  rocks  near  the 
entrance  of  tl^e  harbor.     It  was  winter,  anight  with  ^«ale 
howhng  and  ihe  cold  deadly-thé  two  or  three  poor  felfows 
chng.ng  to  thé  frozen  rigging  niustbe  taken  off  at  once  or 
pensh.    A  boat  was  nianned,  and  George  Windsor,  brave, 
^^erous  and  full  of^dventure,  made  one  of  the  v;iuntee; 
wnl.    l  ^^«^desperate  work  to  launch  the  boat,  desperate 
work  to  keep  her  afloat  in  that  howling  winter  tempest      AU 
at  once  a  fiercer  blast  than  the  others  struck  her  broadaide 
and  she  went  over.     In  a  moment  they  hadrighledheragain 

AU  bù  Veo       w°T  '•;'  ''^  '"^^'"^  crewclamberedin. 
AH  but  George  Wmdsorl     He  could  not  swim  ;  his  mother 

«ni      TYT  ^""^  ^"'""«  "'^^y  ^^°™  **^  treacherousbay, 
a^d  m  the  darkness  he  went  down  like  a  stone.     His  last 

^.^.rTrT'    ?r'  ^'"  ''"'''"«^'"  '^"S  i»  t»^«  «ars  of  his 
reafth.  '^'  '^  ""'". """^  ^^'^  ^"*^  "^  ^^«'y  «>'^d 

slowly  and  sadly  into  her  présence.     How^he  told  hef  he 


*^ 


X llf   f  ^'*^'""'*^  *"*"»  **»'«  «<^<^'^-nically.  made  a 

woL^r     Vri'  '"^  ^""  "^«^^  »*^^«-    She  was  a  strong 
woman,  and  had  never  fiuntcd  in  al]  her  life  beforc,  but  fi» 


>,^i. 


ir 


.likrf.^tiPSf«.'V''. 


;^' 


i.''  1  -«j  ji^ffl 


.54  THE  STORY  OF  THE  STOHE  HO(/SE, 


•ad>ij>crl%  dressed,  was  agucst  of  distinctioa-thT^Md 


•:/:-'-:.i 


pm^ahe  lay  „„„  like  ehe  dead.    'Pcrhaps  death  would  hive 

amiy  and  lefl.  her  aloiie  with  her  awful  despair. 

wï  d^*"  1'"  ""'^  '""""  •""'  *"'■«'  "'"or.  ,ome  mile. 

Z  r;  '^  ^  '°  "'«■«"«'*«  last  of  ail  the  Wind. 

sors,  and  a  monument  that  was  a  marvel  of  beautv  and 
*e,  and  cos,  wa.  erec.ed  over  him.    Then  Xn' 

if  nô  m^^:       '  ""■  ""  '"  '^  ''"■«  ^«"^  «"•  ^-"«^  S"W 

m^an^nl  H  T  T".     *'"«  '"  "■"  '«"i''»  '*«  "ell.  , 

meamngclergyman,l)ad  said:  *  j 

J  It  is  one  of  the  mysterioui  diapensationr  of  Providence 

'h.^?r^  "r"''  '"  ^"  ''"«  ""«lictiveness,  »he  arrayed 

^ukch  ;at!'  °'  "'"  *""'  *=""'  '"''■''^  ">=  ""«^""l  »f  » 
^  Wge  Windsor  had  been  dead  some  fifteen  years  when 
^urence  Longworth  fim  came  to  Baymouth,  bonght  out  th" 
/%««.,  gomg  rap,dly  to  flie  dogs  in  the  hands  of  its  then 
propnetor,  „d  established  himself  as  a  permanent  fixture  In 

her  old  l,fe-how  unspeakably  lonely  and  desolate  a  life  no 
on.  ever  knew.    She  would  hâve  died  in  her  relent  WriSe  • 
woner  than  let  ajjy  living  souf  see  that  broken  andS^^ 

hé^tl  ^'•«««-«"««hingsthatnqteven.imec^ 

help_th.s  was  one..    But  outwaidly  there  was  Uttle  change. 
She  even  went  mto  Society  more  than  of  old,  ahà  opened  he. 

Srr  """••  ^"'"^y  '°  ■«'  ««*•    And  it  was  «one  rf 
*esç  reumon_a  dmner-party  given  by  a  magnate  of  Z 

.^^L^ty^'J-^  Mr^  Windsor,  h.nd.ome,  cold, 


•,s 


** 


V>-.  .,■  ; 

", 

1 

•-      1 

■ . .  •  ■ 

:^^. 

, 

1 

■y^ 

"V 

♦ 

1  . 

-'m 


"-••t- 


'■V''^^''*'S 


*» 


^      THESTORYOFTHB.STONEHOUSM.  59 

■-  .  ,  ♦  Z^-,  - 

.  Longworth  first  met  As  she  sat  in  the'ârawinglroora  aftw 
dinner,  hstlessly  allowing  hereelf  to  be  entertained,  shp  over- 
heard  the  words  of  two  men  behind  her. 

r'Sc  thafs  the  newman  ôf  the  Phénix.    H'in.1  goodhead 
.         and  frontal  development.     Looks  as  if  he  might  knoï^  how. 
Doesn't  he  iQok  like  some  one  l've  seen  before  ?"     * 

^'He  looks  like  poor  George  Windsor.  Vou  remember 
young  Windsor,  don't  you~drowned  some  doien  yéars  ago  ? 
The  mother,  fine-looking,  stermlooking  lady  in  black  velvet. 
19  hère  this  evening..  He  regembles  George  sufiîcientl/  to  be 
a  Jong-lost  brother."  / 

The  men  moved  away,  and  Mrs.  Windsor,  with  a  feeling 
as  if  a  knife  had  pierced  her,  looks  for  the  first  time  intently 
at  the  tall,  fair-haired  youhg  man,  fcaning  lightly  agaîftst  the  " 
--.,chimney,piebe,  and  earnestly  conversing  with  a^little  group 
Pf  men.     Her  face  paled,  her  eyes  dUated,  her  Jips*  parted, 
her  breath  came  qufck-     Hé  was  like  George~so  like<that 
the  mothei-s  heart  thîîllpd  and  trembled  withia  her..    It  Vad   ' 
'  one  of  those  accidentai  resémblançe^that  starSe  ail  W  times, 
and  yet  she  could  hardly  h^Ve  defined  where  it  lay.    The 
shades  of  hair,  eyeS,  and  skin  were  the  sanxe  i  the  figure  of   ' 
this  youpç  man  was  tall  and  strong  as  Georg^'s  had  been  : 
even  a«ubtle  trick  of  smilç  an<î  glance  that  ker  èoy  had  had, 
thisstrànger  possessed. ,-  '   -^^  ■      ;  ■ 

it  troubled  her  at  firrt  ;  graduaiïy,  as  they  met  oftener,  it 
^  comforted  her,  ànd  at  last,  after  years .  of  acquaintanceship,. 

9^  Laurence  LongWorthtopk  the.  place  in  her  childleïs,widoWed 
heart  that  she  would  once  hâve  thought  it,  sacril^e  to  fiU. 
People  began  to  obseryç  her  ma|jked  partia'lityfoJthtf  young 
editor,  and  to  smile^ and  opine". that  his/ortune  was  made. 
Mlles  O'Sullivan  one-day-r-not  long  befire  this  night  upon 
which  Longworth  stands  waiting  foi-  adiijttance  before  ùm 

___Stone  Hoiisfr-^put  tha  gênerai  opmion  into  Word».  -  ■      = 


^     "  Upon  me  conscience,  Larry-,  'tis  bettcr  ic^  be  bom  luc^  . 
•»»  lict;   Hc«'»  thp  Widow  Windsor»  Ic^  life  to  her, 


••A4 


it  1 


r 


^\^^  ■■ 


'^-»  ,%)»?'  ^~ 


•;^*i'*^^l|•/ '">»!•:  («S'il 


lip 

»>'<■;# 


/•i 


^ 


60 


j^ 


*.'.  fv- 


-*  PO/J\rlr  'OF  HONOR. 


r^y  to  la^you  everything  she's  worth  in  the  wcrid  if  '^ 
béhave  yoùrself.     And  a  mighty  pretty  penny  it  «u^be  ""^ 

Iwouldn'ttakeit,"replieaLongworth,coolly.  1 

^^  Ye  wouldnlt,  wouldn't  y^  ?    And  why,  if  it's  plaising  W 

"Mighty  unnatural.  ones  if  ail  I  hear  be  true.  Sure  the 
d^ghter  ran  away  witi,  a^rfnchn,an-the  Lord  look  on  'h  ïî 
-and  has  been  disowned  this  many  a  day." 

♦'  That  is  nothing  to  me,  I  would  not  accept  Mrs  Wind- 
soi's  monty  «rhile  they  are  alive  to  claim  it." 

"Oh  I  then,  by  this  and  that,  I  wish  a  widow  woman  or 
any  other  woman  ^buld  offer  nie  a  fortune:    Ifs  twice-yes 
.  faith.  maybe  three^times,  l'd  be  thinking  before  I  threw  il 
back  m  her  face."  .  ««»»  n 

tak'lTr  rff  ^"^  T'^^^y  ^  ^  ^^"^^  ^^^  O.  Vou  couidn't 
takeit.     Butdoesn't^tstnkeyouthatthîsisanuncommonly   . 
chceky,  prématuré  disf:ussion?    It  is  never  well  to  refuse 
before  one  is  asked."  . 

What  Mr,  Longworth  thinks  about  his  chances  himself,  no 
one  knows     SUence  is  this  gentleman's  forte.     But  so  mat 
ters  stand  this  sultry  May  night,  upon  which  he  stands  and 
knocks  at  Mrs.  Windsor-s  door. 


%.'  '  - 


CHAPTER  V. 

A  POINT  OP  HONOIto 


\ 


MIDDLE-AGED  wornan-servant  admîts  hhu,  aiu| 
Longworth  enters  a  long,  low,  very  spacious  hall, 
»«ftljr«rpeted,irang  with  rich  pteres,  and^oraed 


«pirther  «de  by  a  8»#«n  Roman  gpldicr  inJjrOMckaôiOi 


11 


"^'^fW* 


% 


A  POINT  OF  HONOR.  -    '  ^i 

oiwliig  swàrd.  Four  doors  flank  this  wide  hall  ;  the  first  of 
thèse  to  the  right  the  wotnan  opens,  says  "  Mr.  Long«.orth, 
noa'am,"  and  départs.  . 

Thè  ropm,  on  the  threshold  of  which  he  stands  for  a  mo 
ment  and  gazes,  as  at  a  picture,  |s  one  that  is  veiy  fainiliar- 
and  that  never  fails  to  give  his  artistic  eye  pleasure.     Jt  is 
Mr^  Windsor's  sitting-room  j  hère  none  but  intiniate  friends 
(and  she  has  very  few)  find  her.     It  is  a  square  apàrtment, 
carpeted  in  t»le,  cool  colors,  gray  and  J»lue^'curtained  in 
white  lace,  soft  chairs  and  sofas  aiso  blue  and  gray,  a  fuU^ 
length  mirror  at  each  end,  two  inlaid  tables,  whereon  reposa 
«omeWge»  albums  and  Bpoks  of  Beauty,  but  not  a^other 
rolume  of  any  sort  ;  water-color  sketches  and  lîHè  engravings 
on  the  wails,  boih  perfect  of  their  Içjnd,  and  a  féw  heads  in 
.l'anan  froni  the  antique  ;  pretty  and  expensivé  trifles  every- 
where,  Two  or  threç  slehder  glasses  of  çuî  flowers  perfume 
the  air,  the  light  falls  soft  and  shaded,  ifrealth  and  refined 
taste  speak  to  you  in  every  détail,  and  meet  you  again  in  the 

Z%  t  ^^  V  ^^"^  "'^'  ^°^^^'  ^«'  g»«f-  Her  heavy 
s.lk  falls  about  her  m  those  sofKJarge,  noiseless  folds  that 
women  love  ;  some  pointlace  at  the  throatis  caught  with  one 
great  gleaming  diamond  Her  hair,  profuse  stiU,  but  silvery 
white  ,s  combedbat:k  over  aroU,  and  adds  to  the  severe 
immobihty  orthat  pale,  changeless  (acQ.  No,  not  change- 
less,  for  Jt  Iightens  andsoftcns  as  she  gives  hiin  her  hand. 

_  J<iu  are  punctuality  itself,  Mr.  Laurence,"  she  says; 
"it  is  precisely  eight." 

;  She  résumes  her  chair,  folds  her  white  hands,  upon  which 
many  jewels  twinkle,  in  her  lap.  There  are  women  so 
worna.!^,  or  so  restiez,  that  they  can  hever  sit  contentedly 
qùUe^idle-some  pièce  of  flimsy  féminine  handicrafk  must 
1  ":,    ,.  *''^^"i^:!^  ?°^^"-    .^"-  "N'xnà^r  is  not  one  jL 


rtoOTSwithlTosè  white- fiàndsfeïai^ 
her  cyeslialf  closed,  wîthout  the  necessity  of  eithcr  needl»' 
Work  or  book  occurring  to  her. 


Ny-    ^ 


T?' 


TiX,^',  , 


■>-4  .1- 


«■f/i'^tm' 


^^        '  ^  POINT  Q^  HONOR.  , 

tw^vTTl''*''  *  "^"'^  in  this  room,  sacred  for  the  past^ 
indeL       A         "'"'  *  ''"'■^  comfortable  and  caressing  ch\dr, 

ndeed  and  into  us  open  arms  he  consigns  himsif  now 
leanshis  blonde  head  against  its  azuré  back  with  a  feeLgT; 
bas  o  ten  b,d  before-that  this  roona  is  a  ve.y  Wom^  and 
^  fui  place,  and  Mfs.  V^indsor  one  of  the  mostZo^ghly 
a^sfactory  women  he  hfs  ever  met.  As  sheCts  beLe 
him  m  her  lustrons  silks  and  jewels,  her  serene,  high-bred 
fece  and  tratnante  voice,  she  has  ail  the  «  stiUy  tranquU  " 

command  admiration,  and  Longworth  admires  her;  but  ftis 
surely  a  deeper^^nd  stronger  feeling  that  looks  out  of  hek 

Tel  r/  T;  '-  '''  ^'^^  ^'"^  '^^  ^°«'  ^^<>^  ^--^^r  ^ov^ 
mothel^  "'"''   ''^''^    ^"""^"^   ^^^^"^    ^^^«^«  o^ 

«?h  JÎ'T  t'^  h  t  ''™^  ^^'^^  '^  *^^^"^'°'>  ^^^^'on  of^^friends. 
She  tells  hm,  of  her  winter  in  Washington,  «nd  of  the  è^feb-  / 

theré  rfh'''''f'  "'""^'  ""'  -u^îcal,she  has  met  ^' 
Tl^  u  "'"^^  anmution  is  wantmg  ;  it  is  nôt  to  talk 
ot  tWese  things  she  has  asked  him  to  corne  hère.  She  is 
rarel^  at  a  loss,  but  she  seems  to  be  somewhat  so  tonight. 
dnd  It  ,s  Mr.  Longworth  himself  who,  as  the  dock  strikes 
nme,  breaks  the  ice. 

'      «  You  made  some  allusion  to  business  this  aftemoon,"  he 

Z':    K       ''.^"^''^'"^  '»  ""^^^  X  can  be  of  service?    Any- 
tlnng  about  the  mills- "  -  ^ 

"  Nothing  about  the ,  mills.     Thompson  is  a  very  corn-    ' 

S  r7^  """''"?''  ^"*^  '""'  '°  '^^''     ^^"^^^"'  when  I 
was  m  Washmgton.  I  made  my  will  " 

■Jtr\  ''  '!"""*'u  •^^'     Longworth,  lying  back  easily,  loop-    " 

1  r,   unloopmg  his  watch^hain,  lifts  his  eyebrows. 
^^^^Always  a  wise  précaution,"  he  answers,  "but  in  your 

q"^t^^  Prématuré     Still,  it  is  well  to  have  theae  tLg 
t^«^^don«  wrth^Jt  .^  **"»■, 


"  And,  taureuMp^have  made  you  my  hcû.'» 


'* 


...  / 


'*  >  ',    l  i 


-<  TV/ATT-  Oi^  HONOR. 


63 


It  has  corne.  In  spite  of  her  mal-ked  partiality  for  liim. 
which  he  understands  and  which  touches  him~in  spite  of 
O'Sulhvan's  words,he  has  hardly  ever  glanced  k  this  possi- 
toihly  He  is  a  man  absorbed  in  his  work,  work  which  suits 
him  thoroughly  ;  he  has  no  especial  ambition  for  sudden  and 
great  wealth.  Yet  sudden  and  great  wealth  is  offered  him 
hère.  He  sits  quite  still,.and  there  %  a  brief  silence,  her 
^  [         façe^shghtly  agitateil,  his  showing  no  shadow  of  change.    At 

^  "I  am  sorry  to  hear  this,"  are  his  fifst  words.     ««It  can- 

V       not  be.     I  am  deeply  grateful,  but  it  cannot  be." 

"Whynot?"  .  -  V. 

"  Dear  madam,  do  you  need  to  ask-?    You  hâve  a  dauch- 
ter "  *    '  * 

'  '!}  ^*^«  "*>  daughter,"  she  interrupts,  her  voice  W  and 
f^  "^^''  ^^^  no°e  for  twenty-one  years.  I  hâve 
doubly  none  ïM;)wr,  for  she  is  dead." 

"Is  she  dead?    I  regret  to  hear  that." 
"  I  do  not,"says  Mrs.  Windsor,  icily.         ,        ' 
"  But  she  has  left  children-you  mentioned  the  fact  to  me 
onceyour^.    She  bas  left  daughters,  and  your  daughter's 
"~'— «attgmers  are  yourheirs— not  I  ?" 

--  "The  daughters  of  the  trenchman,  Landelle,  wiU  never 

inhent  a  penny  of  mine." 

"My  dear  Mrs.  Windsor,  pardon  me~they  ou^ht,  they 
rblist.  They  are  the  last  of  your  line  ;  your  bfood  is  theirs. 
Do  not  visit  the  sin  of  their  father,  if  sin  it  was.  upon  theiii. 
m  any  case  I  shall  not  usui-p  their  right."  .r    ^ 

"  You  absolutely  refuse  ?  "  '        I  '^^ 

«I  absolutely  refuse.  It  is  quite  impossible  for  me  tQ 
take  this  mhentance  of  your  grànd-daughtei-s." 

"  You  are  magnanimous,"  she  says,  with  a  brief  «nd  verv 


'"You'i 


^ 


aiq  wne^o!  The  wôrïd's  woriders— a  man     - 
who  can  refuse  a  fortune."  '■ 

.  J*'^n''^Ûiink  Istandidone,"  he  Sayi,<yK)Uy.     «' Think 


4 


*»t 


-t. 


'\    .' 


•^ 


4  ^  '>  f> 


,    V! 


.^e 


<S4 


-<  -po/yr  o^  HONOR. 


\ 


better  of  niankind,  my  dear  madame.  I  fancy  I  know  sonie 
men  who  would  décline  to  rob  t«ro  orphan  girls  of  thèù 
birthnght     It  must  be  theirs,  dear  lady,  not  mine.» 

"It  shall  never  be  theirs,"  she  retorts,  cold,  reprVssed 
passion  m  her  tone;  "they  were  nothing,  less  4han  nothing 
to  me  before.  If  you  persist  in  thwarting  me  for  their  sakes, 
)  ou  will  make  me  abso^utely  hâte  them." 

"I  jnust  persist,  and  you  will  not  hâte  them.    Do  you  not 
see  I  would  bè  utterly  unworthy  of  the  regard  with  which 
you  honor  me,  if  I  do  this.     In  your  heart  you  would  despise 
me,  and  your  contempt  would  be  as  nothing  to  the  cohtempt 
I  would  feel  for  myself.     It  is  best  for  a  man  to  stand  well 
with  hunself.     I  would  be  simply  robbing  your  grand-daugh- 
\  ters  if  raccepted  tftèir  rightful  inheritance-be  nothing  t)etter 
than  any  bther  thief.    I  feel  ail  your  great  goodness,  believe 
me-~feel  it  so  deeply  that  I  hâve  no  words  to  thank  you  • 
.  but  if,  mdeed"— his  voice  grows  lowand  terider— "you  give 
me  some  of  that  affection  you  once  gave  your  son,  letme 
use  it  to  plead  for  your  grandchildren.    Send  for  them,  bring 
U^Tm^here,  if  their  father  will  resign  them,  and  my  word  for 
it  loye  wiU  foUow,  and  the  right  will  be  done.»     ' 
"Their  father  is  dead,"  she  says,  drearily.  . 

«^nd  they  stand  in  the  world  quitç  alone.  Then  truly  it 
is  time  they  wére  hère.  This  is  their  home,  you  afe  their 
motber.  Forget  the  past,  let  death  blot  it  out;  semj  for 
thèse  young  ladies,  and  let  them  be  the  comfort  and  blessinir 
ofyour  later  lifç.»  -  * 

She_sits,  her  quiet  hands  folded,  stimg-deeply  «tung  in 
her  affection  for  this  man,  a^d  in  her  piide.  He  sees  the 
diamonds  darting  rays  of  fire  on  her  fingers  and  at  her  throat. 
aees  the  hard,  cold  look  that  sternly  sets  her  face. 
•  «This^is  your  final  and  absolute  décision?  "  shç  anks  in  a 
low  yoice.    «  You  will  not  think  twice-you  will  not  change 


"  I  wiU  not  change  my  mind.    It  is  «mply  impossible." 


ii4\.*i 


w  sonie  ^ 
Df  thëii 


»» 


/  ■ 


■^f, 


if    '^  -ri* 


^  POtUT-  OF  HOSOg. 


«5, 


yott 


"ÏS:';!::;;:-'^   /fver  «ad  uu^ming  more  coollyaudadous?" 
•Ile  demands  m  suppressed  anger.  ^ 

«^  ja  a  cool  production,  certainly  ;  its  author  I  judgc  to 


>^." 


\ 


"  Nol  even,;;  .he  «y^  looking  at  him  «xcdly,  «  if  i  ,.f„se 
me  lortune  you  despiw  to  the  town  ?  "    • 

the  décision  I  hâve  just  expressedi" 

'  ''■»>'  «fe  indeed  a  man  of  iron  hiold,"  she  savs.  wiih 
.ha.  shght.  b  tter  smile..    "  Wdl,  I  wiU  not  prettKa.'l* 

Justmadeisfoi|.ndintact-.whatthen?"        '    ^- 

_  "Then  ittmll  become  my  daty  to  search  out  yoiir  erand  ' 

d««h.er^ai,d.«„sferi.to  .l.|„  withou.  an  ho^s  £  'r 

and'rSti^'gLr'^'""'"'-"'"*''™'"-'-'"^^ 

AU  the  lettets  we  hâve  sent  hâve  been  unanswered,  even  that  wri«e„ 

chUdrm.  Under  thèse  circumstances  we  would  not  force  oureelves  uoon 
you  had  ^  any  other  home,  but  our  aunt  in  R^uen  is  aiso  S  Toi 
^o^  sole  mnaini^g  parent -yours  is  the  onfy  home,  the  lly  proTr 
non  we  can  chum  on  tarth.  ,  We  come  to  you  therefo  e  We^m^â 
from  laverpool  for  New  York  early  in  May,  and  .f  yoî  wiU  hl^l  Te 
goocteess  to  send  «,me  one  to  meet  «s  there  we  wiU  L  ZlZj^" 
We des-reto  know  and  to  love  you,  madame,  and  with  tL^  «oTlff.  " 
tionate  sentiments  we  art,  your  granddaughtU,     ^  ''  **^* 

.  .  i^  "Haruc  and  Reine  Landellb.» 

Jong^orth  finishe,  aie  >tt.r,and  looks  up  wiUi  a  half 


I- 


#1 


i 


/9 


'•g,-' 


1; 
!;■•.■ 


"^.j-o- 


rp 


'.  •V'WV' 


66 


■s 


A  Point  of  hosor, 

be^an  eminert'ily  self-posscssed  and  resolute  joung  laàr. 
St.ll   she  18  quite  right.      She  obeys  the  dying  wishet  à( 

\l  I  deny  her  right.     Her  parents  had  no  shado«r  of  clainr 
uiwn  me,  and  neither  hâve  the  demoiselles  Landelle  " 

•*  Hâve  you  answered  this  tetter  ?  -  asks  Longworth.  look- 
ingat  it  curiously.  , 

"  Certainly  not."  '  .; 

"  Then  they  may  even  now  be  on  their  way  hère  " 
"  They  ar«  not  only  on  their  way,  but  their  steamer  is  due 
m  New  York  the  day  after  to-morrow.    They.cabled  at  start- 
mg,  like  a  pair  of  princesses." 

"  Had  I  accepted  your  oflfer,"  he  says.  stiU  half  «miling. 
.       how  would  you  hâve  acted  in  this  complication  ?*^ 

«  There  would  hâve  been  no  complication.  Hàd  you  ac 
cepted  my  offer,  as  you  would  hâve  donc  were  yim  a  wise 
man,  I  would  not  hâve  shown  you  this  letter.  I  would  hâve 
gone  to  New  York,  tnet  them,  thea  taken  a  retum  passage 
for  them  m  the  nexj  Ship,  and  sent  them  back  wjicre  they 
came  from."  j  I-  ;  ' 

•' Madame,  you  wojild  not  hâve  been  so  cruel  !" 
«  Do  you  call  it  cruel?    This  beggar,  Landelle,  carried  off 
my  daughter,  a  silly  fool  of.se ventéen,  for  her  fortune,  hoping 
no  doubt  that,  like  stage  parents,  the  flmty  father  and  mother 
would  relent.     He  robbed  me  of  mydaughter-why  shouW 
I  receive  his  ?     I  mi^ht  not  hâve  sent '.hem  back  penniless  ; 
I  might  hâve  settled-alife  annuity  upon  each.  and  am  re.W' 
to  do  so  stili  ,f  you  wiU  d'o.as  I  désire.      Think  it  over,  Lau- 
rence-itis  no  bagatelle  of  a  fewthousands  you  are  reject- 
mg-and  I  wiU  send  them  back.     I  do  not  want  them  hère. 
You  hâve  only  tosay  the  Word.;'  ■ 
"I  woulg  be  a  brute  »nd  a  scoundrèl  if  t  said  îfc    DO  not 


««-«pcdc^the  mherttânce  î^iîS; 


_. — .-.,p^_  — 


^      ^.       -  o — -     -it  us  coiîsider  thât 

question  forever  at  rest     Your  grand^ughters  m^stcoia^ 


■^J 


t 
s 
11 


^'fS£ff': 


^f^' 


<     '  .*r«lC'î"' 


U-A-- 


A  POINT  OF  HONOR. 


w\ 


67 


»nd  they  must  be  met  in  New  York  ^  they  say.     I  wonder, 
by  the  by,  what  steamer  they  cross  in  ?  '.' 


"Thé-Hesperia." 

"Th<f   HesperUi 
They  will  hâve 

"Probably, 
Hariott — the; 
witboutkhpw; 

"Then  our 
a  short  sileniôe 
women  are  to  ci:>me. 


> 


iy,that,i»   Miss   Hadotfs    ship. 
together." 

ÎTs.  Windsor.  She  does  not.like  Miss 
Jerent  orders  of  women,  and  perhaps 
jealous  of  Longworth's  regard.  | 
^ends'here?"  she  says,  calml«gjffter 
1  refuse  my  offer,  and  thèse  |oung 
Mr.  Longworth,  will  you  be  the  onc 
to  meet  thcra  ?  I  would  not  trouble  you,  but  that  you  tdî 
me  you  are  going  to  New  York." 

"  It  will  be  no  iS-ouble  ;  it  will  be  a  great  pleasure.     Yes» 
\J  .will  meet  them  and  bring  them  home:" 

And  then  silence  fa,ys,  and  in  that  silence  the  clock  on  the 
i^ntel  strîkes  ten.    Longworth  rises. 
^^  As  I  start  by  the  first  train  I  will  get  to  feed  betimes. 
^oijd-n^ht,  my  dear  Mrs.  Windsor,  and  for  two  or  three 
ays\  good^by." 

îood-by,"  she  says,  and  "sçs  a^looks  full  in  his  eyes. 
^have  disappointed  me  xaoxt^^Xy  to-night,  Laurence, 
V^ver  thought  mortal  man  coura  do  again." 
•-Eyou  do  not  <»re  for  me  the  lessy  I  know,"  he  answers. 
irVegard  is  somethîng  1  hold  very  precious  ;  I  cannot 
(  to  l^scit.  How  truly  I  retum  it,  how  profound  is 
my  gratitude  to-night,  it  would  be  tiseless  for  me  to  try  ttf 
tell.  I  From  my  heart  I  thankf  you." 

Hè  holds  both  her  hands  in  his  close,  warm  grasp.  He  is 
the  l^st  démonstrative  of  men  ;  to  most  people  he  is  cold, 
8ilent,v  self^téntered,  but  this  widowedimpthet's  regard  for 
him  h^s  alw^ys  seemed  in  his  eyes  a  sacred  and  pathetic 

Mm 


<4 


ï 


He  h  out  once  more  in  the  >till  starlight,  windlefs  and 
«Qdwatm. 


-- 


_,    .» 


vj'-'j  ;,' 


.«V. 


^ 


-r- 


•  %\ 


'"v 


.;^^. 


r  1    ,  ■■-'^°*^s"^W7^^Tjf5 


68 


^  PO/yVT-  C?^  HONOR, 


heroism-nothing  more  than  any  man  of  principle  might  do 

"      a,  tTf     -  ^  ^""  '""'^'  '^  '^  ^  ^^^^  ™-'  b"'  nofa  the* 
cpst  of  seu-respect.     If  he  held  no  other  code  than  the  old 

Pagan  code  of  honor,  if  he  .ère  not  a  Christian  gent  ema^ 
te  t:?nVht.  ^'^^  ^°"^'  '''  '"^^^  '"-  ^°  ^°  -  '^  '^^ 

mZ  r^  ?  T'"  """'"  '°  Chapman,  too."  lie  thinks;  -  and 
make  an  end  of  it.     My  uncle  took  me  up  twenty  years  a«, 
and  let  m^go  adrift  on  the  world  after-my  oJn^Jfi 

^eues  h.m  ,sready  to  throw  him  to  the  dogs  and  reinstate 
me.  How  long  would  I  hold  his  favor,  I  wonder  ?  and  if  I 
were  sent  mto  outer  darkness  a  second  time,  who  would  be 

mas  granddaughtersl  Humph  I  Mrs.  Windsor's  grand- 
daughters  ought  to  be  pretty."  ^ 

at  once^^Thl '""''  '"'"'  ''™"^' t'  ^"'^  ^°^^  "P  ^«  '^'^  ^o-»" 
but T;  1  ^  "'  ''"«'"^  ^"^  r^^"«  ^^^^«  i"  the  parlor. 
but  he  feels  m  no  mood  for  musi^or  cards,,    His  room  is  â 

a  few  fine  engravmgs  hung  aràohg  tHëm.  He  tùrnsup  the 
gas,  sus  dowtn  snd  dashes  oflf  hisfetter  on  fte  spot. 

ur»        ^  "Baymouth,  Mass.,  May  20  18— 

Co||i  not  think  of  stealing  down  in  Frank  D-*t^r»flK,         ""/*"• 

,1»  u  KHow.     ^«-««««Mrkeepsmeinbread,  and  beef. 


•tcaks,  and  book»-.ju,t  tt  présent  I  aaknomore. 


Waitiug  for  dead 


-*' 


'» 


^ 


J 


<   -t 


GRANDMAMMA'S  iJRANDDAUGHlEXS. 


men's  shoes  would  never  agrée  with  my  constitution.  Dexter's  a  Ukely 
young  fellow  besides,  and,  as  his  mother  has  worked  so  hard  for  a  for- 
tune, I  think  he  ought  to  hâve  it.  My  uncle  kls  no  right  to  bring  him 
up  a  prince  and  turn  him  out  a  pauper.  SoT  cannot  go,  Cliapitoan  : 
b'it»  ail  the  same,  I  am  obliged  to  you,  and  remain  as  èver,  etc., 
,  "  Laurence  Longworth." 

"  P.  S.  -Let  me  know  if  there  is  any  danger,  I  should  noj  likè  the 
dear  old  uncle  to  go  without  one  good-by.  He  wa.<  awfully  good  to  me 
In  the  old  days.  '    L.  L."    ^ 


CHAPTER  VI. 


grandmamma's  granddaughtjîrs. 


f'.' 


beef» 
dMd 


IR.  LqNGWORTH  is  up  betimes  next  morning, 
and  on  his  way  to  the  office.  He  has  a  few  letters 
to  answer,  and  instructions  "to  give  to  his  chief  staff 
officer,  O'SuUivan.  Thèse  do  not  occupy  him  long;  as 
^ight  strikes  he  is  standing  on  the  piazza  of  fhe  white  housé, 
looking  out  over  th'e  broad  bay,  with  its  multitudinous  waves 
flashing  in  thp  sunshine,  and  listening  to  the  shrill  chatter- 
ing  of  the  little  brown  sparrows  in  the  trees.  Suddenly 
a  harsh,  discordant  voice  breaks  the  sylvan  silence  croaking 
his  name. 

"Larry!  Larry  !  ^Larry!"  shrieks  this  hoaràe  voice. 
"  Kiss  me,  Larry  I  You're  a  fool,  Larry  !  you're  a  fool  I 
Oh,  demmit  !" 

"  Ah  I  you're  there,  are  you  ?  "  says  Longworth,  glancîng 
%i  an  uppér  window  where  the  author  of  thèse  reniarks  sits 
in  the»8un. 


••  ¥ouTe  a-tmjT  ESrfy  riTTocarârïodrT    Ohdëmmïé  I 
Sacré  bleu  1  doriner  und  blitzen  1    You're  a  fool  I  you're  a 


I' 

■Ai 

''%    I 

ai 


ii^       •.! 


^'. 


'z-^v^^- 


l  - 


70 


'Jrt 


GRANDMAMMA'S  GRANDDAUGffTERS. 


Longworth's  respon^e  to  this  torrent  of  bad  language  is  • 
gnn.     He  turns,  Iook^%  and  nods  familiarly         ^    ^ 

"  Good-morning.  Polly  ;  you're^in  a  heavenly  temper  this 
mornjng  as  usual,  I  see.     I  shall  We  to  go  and  see  aboù 

For  the  speaker  is  a  parrot,  in  a  large,  gilded  caxe-a 
b.rd  whose  looks  are  handsomer  ,ha„  her  conversatb^^ 
she  sw,„gs  with  her  red  head  on  on.  side,  her  bla  k  ey" 
fierceIyc<K.ked,  abird  of  tenadious  black  cla,,.,,  dangerou^ 
back  bUl,  br^as.  of  briUian.  green  and  gold,  eaii  and'wZ 
V md  onmson  and  blue.  Poll/s  principal  conunand  of  la' 
guage  .s  m  E„gl,A,  but  she  can  swear  wi.h  admirable  auency  ■ 

erty  of  Frank  Deicter,  who  bough.  her,  upon  the  occasion 
of  h,s  las.  ,,s,t  ,0  Baymouth,  from  a  Dnteh  skipper.  dev«ed 
a^cou^e  o  weeks  exclusively  to  her  éducation  Ind  lefte' 
«  a  precious  .legacy  and  solace  of  hU  leisure  hours  to  hi, 

Larry  I    You  re  a  fool,  Larry  I    Sacré  bleu  I    Oh,  demmit  I  " 
when  that  gentleman  disappears. 

Mr.  Longworth  reaches  New  York  by  nightfall,  and  spends 
fte  evemng  at  one  of  the  theaters.      He  attends  to  the 

Hespe,»  w.!.  not  reach  her  pier  until  eleven  toraorrow 
«sus  a  few  faoads,  and  dines  mth  sundry  congenialZur; 
>  hterary  club  to  which  he  belongs. 

Nejt^day,  at  eleven  sharp,  he  is  down  on  the  pier  wait- 
>ng  for  th.-  Hesperia,  and  grandmarama's  granddaughters 

r.Î    ^,>,    "  '']"'  ^"^  •■"  P»«'"«e"  "e  hurrying  in  mld 
h«te  huher  and  thither.     Longworth  boards  her.  V.n«, 

m    nu    mmn   nf   thm    rv_.— „:. n       -w        ,  ..  •**       _ 


Tflë  has  not 


^4^: 


«1.0-gh.  much  about  thèse  y„„g  Mief'  Whl  h"  Z 

l 


■M„,_    ^"    ^    *    »•%• 


X. 


;.~*irt  ■ 


.■kh.'.' 


GRANDMAMMA^S  GRANDDAUGHTERS.  7l; 

thought  has  not  been  exactly  flattering.  ^Even  with  right  on 
their  side  that  "round  robin"  of  theirs^as  a  stupendously 
cheeky  soui^  ;  their  feelings,  hf  opines,  canndt  be  any  toc 
délicate  or  sensitive  in  thus  forcing  themselves,  uninvited 
and  unwelcorate,  even  upon- their  grandraother.  He  sées 
ma'ny  young  girls,  dark*and  dashing;  fair  and  stylish,  but 
noneî  that  quite  answer  that  p^vate  idea  of  the  ladies  Lan- 
délie.  Presently  he  ^spies  the  captain,  and  makes  for  liim. 
"I  am  in  search  of  two  young  ladies  due  in  this  vessel," 
he  says.    it  Ihey  are  French,  their  names  Landelle." 

"  My  little  ladies,"  cries  the  captain  with  animation  ;  "  they 
were  afraid  n(^pne  was  Cbming  to  meet  them  after  ail.  Are 
you  a  relative,  kir?,"  ^  •         . 

"  No.     Wliere  are  they  ?  " 

*'  In  my  cabin.  This  way,  sir.  AU  right,  madame.^  l'il 
be  back  in  a  second.  They  are  going  to  their  gTandmother. 
You  are  from  her,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Longworth  nods.  The  captain  of  the  Hesperia  throws 
open  his  cabin  door,  Longworth  takes  off  his  hat  and  stands 
in  the  présence  of  the  lîrench  granddaughters.        ^ 

"  My  little  ladies,"  exclain^^  the  captain,  cheerily,  "  liere 
he  is  at  last,  senf  by  grandraiinma,  and  corne  to  fetch  you. 
And  as  I  am  tremendously  busy,  I  will  say  good-by  at  once, 
and  God-spepd." 

He  shakes  hands  with  both  and  départs.  Longworth  is 
alone  with  the  orphan  girls,  whose  case  he  pleade,d  at  his 
own  cost.  Their  eyes  are  upori^iim  ;  wljat  their  opinion  of 
him  may  be,  he  neither  knows  nor  cares  ;  his  opinion  of  them 
--prompt  and  incisive  as  ail  his  opinions  are— is,  ttiat  one  is 
without  exception  the  most  beautiful  girl  he  has  ever  seen. 
In  his  thirty-odd  years  of  •  life  he  has  seen  many  fair  women— 
anything  quite  so  faultlessly  perfect  as  the  tallerof  thèse  two, 
he  does  not  remember 


greygX-tQ  havfi  met.  In  days  gonc  by^ 
as  has  been  said,  he  has  been  a  poetaster';  enough  of  Ihe 
poefs  adoration  of  the  beautiful  in  ail  things  stiU  clings  to 


'9 


.*«w 


ttlSwln.^à, 


■h 


.72  GRANDMAMMA'S  GRANDDAUGUTERS,  \ 

•  ••  - 

the  prosaic  man  of  buaness  to  màke  him  yield  spontaneoaa     . 
homage  hère.     He  has  but  the  vaguest  idea  of  separate 
détails  in  his  first  moment,  he  is  bnly  conscious  of  a  match- 
lesswhple.     He  hazilj  reaUzès  that  shç^is  tall  and   veiy     • 
graceful^  thàt  she  has  niasses  of  lovely  hair  of -that  peculiar  k^ 
^    and  rare  tint  knoVn  as  Italian  red,  that  she  has  yellow-brown  . 
eyes,  a  complexion  of  pink  and  pearl,  and  is  dresse<l  in  gray. 
ThesisterJiejustgiances  at— few  men  would  do  more  than 
just  glance  at  her  with  that  other  radiant  vision  in  view— . 
and  in  that  glance,  notes  that  she  is  small  and  dark,  rather 
•*'   plain  than  pretty,  and  that  she  is  watchingjiim  earnestly 
with  two  large  black  eyes.     He  turfis  to  thi  taller  and  fairer, 
and  as  she  looks,  the  older  of  the  two,  no  trace  of  the  admi- 
ration  he  certainly  feels  in  his  face— hiâ  look,  as  they  see  it, 
cool,  steadfast,  critical,  niatter-of-fact. 

-     "  My  name  is  Longworth,"  he  says,  concisely  ;  "  I  live  in 
Baymouth,  and  as  business  was  bringing  me  to  New  Yjork, 
your  grandmother,  Mrs.  Windsor,  requested  me  to  meet  you 
hère,  and  escort  you  there.     I  will  place  you  in  a  cab  now. 
if  you  are  ready,  and  then  will  see  after  youf  baggage."       ^ 
A  faint  amused  smile,  which  she  bites  her  pretty  lips  to 
repress,  dawns  in  the  fair  face,  as  its  owner  stands  quietly 
before  him  and  listens.     Evidently>she  is  not  accustoraed  to 
being  addressed  by  gentlemen  in  that  cavalier  fashion,  evi- 
dently  also  the  brusquerie  doç s  not  oflTend  her.    She  bows 
without  a  Word,  accepts  the  arm  he  offers,  the  small  dark 
demoiselle  takes   the   other,  and  in   profound  silence  ^  Mr. 
Longworth  leads  them  to,  and  places  them  as  per  promise 
in  the  cab.    Then  he  disappears  in  search  of  the  luggage, 
and  Marie  Landelle  looks  at  her  sister  and  laughs  outright-  ' 

"Here's  richness,  Reine  !   Ursa  Major  in  the  ftesh— much 
too  good-looking  to  be  such  a  bear.     Longworth  I    where 


iicard-^hattittwefaefere-?^ 


-^ 


O 


! 

1 


"  You  hâve  heard  it  from  me,"  says  Reine.  "  Mr.  Dextet 
.  «9<i  Mees  Hariott  talked  of  him  perpetually.     H«  scenii 


''S;"'',» 


te,î- 


'f 


^v 


GRANDMAMMA'S  GRANDDAÙGHTERS.  73 

to  be  a  greal  friend  of  that  lady — Mr.  Dexter  said  a  lover, 
but  he  appears  too  young  for  that,  and  that  tall  luônsiear 
was  always  farceur,  Mai-ie,  he  looked  at  us  coldly>  almost 
sternly  ;  if  grandmammà's  liiessenger  is  like  that,  Mon  Dieu  \ 
T/hat  will  nôt  grandmadima  be  ?  "    v^ 

«A  very  dragon,  but  withal  a  very  great  ^dy,  if  ail  pooi 
rnamma  used  to  say  were  true,  and  une  grande  dame  at  leasl 
wjllnot  be  discourteous.  Be  she  coJd  as  sno^ir,  and  hard  as 
stone,  I  will  still  meit  and  soften  her,  or  fail  for  the  first 
tinie.  As  to  the  tall  blonde  monsieur,  with  the  cold,  stei^ 
blue  eyes,  what  does  it  signify  ?  How  very  like  an  English 
man  he  is."  * 

The  ta^,  blonde  monsieur,  with   the   stem   blue    eyes. 
appears  as  she  says  it,  informs  them  briefly  that  their  proper 
ty  is  ail  right,  mounts  beside  cabby,  giv-es  his  order,'  lights  a 
cigar,  and  they  rattle  off  to  one  of  the  grand   Broadway 
hôtels.     He  puflfs  his  cigar,   watches   the   crowd  and   the 
familiar  streets,  and  thinks  of  his  fair  cargo.     "  Mrs.  Wind 
sor's  granddaoghters  ought  to  be  pretty  "— well,  one  is  nof 
âctually,  the  other  is  something  more.     The  small  dark  ope 
looks  French,  the  tall,  fair  one  thoroi;|^  English.    Sht; 
speaks  En^|perfectly,  too,  with  hardly  îKwicent,  but  thaï 
is  to  b^  ex^iiected  from  constant  association  with  her  mothei, 
and  her  life  in  Lomâon.     By-the-by,  he  won^ers  ^hy  Landellc 
has  Hved  in  London^^aching  no  doubt     Then  his  thdights 
drift  to  Miss  iKriotf— he  has  not  ^^  her,<^riic  mustjiajtf 
got  off  before  he  came.     How  will  fl^ame  Wfndsor  rl^ft 
thèse  two  young  people  ?    fcivilly  he  hopes,  icily  he  knoW^; 
but,  then,  they  must  hâve  made  up  their  minds  tq  poç^dt  >■ 
their  pride  when  they  determined  tp  force  themselyes  upop 
Ker.   V 

"Apropos,"  he  musesj^if  she  sets  up  that  regal  beauty. 


La  Fille  Ot/x  Ytux  ^TOr,^  Balzac  hath  ïï^  that  *  \aU,~faT 
maiden  full  of  gi*ace,'  as  an  heiress,  présents  her  as  siicl- 
at  the  impérial  court  of  Washington  next  |^ter,  what  an 


t 


1 


,("-.■■> 


-,  V> 


d 


..  '^f, 


-:;^-- 


H^;^ 


m-  f  V 


•^ 


ïu 


?■;■«. 


•>. 


7^  ÇXJ^DA/AA^J:^  gMnDdI 

enormous  seiÉitioD  sh#iiÉtcreatè,***wt*fVr»liank^it  in  th^^ 


toly  estate  o^|^nioiit||i  mayachieyi.j^But  urûe 

power  pf  B(î«it^is  greater  thaï  e^:lj0pïicie0. 

ITiey  hitist  hâve  deagiiimipoij^er 
Ise  wot^  hâve  broUfel^tèMiiI J^^iat  w<)uld  they 
^  Ihey  knew  of  that  wiU  made  la^  winter?  " 
Je,  a  su^den  inçpiratioR,  flashes  upori  himp  so 
^^,  !ea  that  he  smiles  in  a  ^ï^  façhion  lo  himself. 
^  .>ï>i^ttïy  Word,  that* would  be  ^  easy  way  to  recon- 
%*#  dîfficûlties,  do  the  éorréct  thingj||nd  gain  a  couple  of 
allions.  I  canbot  take  Mrs.  Windsoll  money,  but  I  could 
irtàrry  («  ieUe  blonde  and  take  half  Mît.  Grandmamma 
would  nqt  deelîrie  the  allianôe,  and  if  mafStnoiselle  is  so  keen 
for  a  fortune  àhe  wpuld  not  refuse  even  with  the  incunibrance 
of  a  hpsbai^d*  It  would  be  worth  while'ton  both  suies,  and 
though  ir  i»not  for  an  outside  ijarbarian  to  judgp  of  conjugal 
bliss,  I  think  it  would  be  pîeasant  to  look  at  a  face  like  that 
across.the  bre^Kfast- table  thrèe^hundred  ând  sixty-five  days 
.  every  year. 

They  readh  th»  hôtel  ah<î  are  cohducted  to  their  roonis— 
veryspacious  and  eleç^int  rooins,  but  witli  the  bare  drearf- 
ness  pervading  their  élégance  that  is  the  essential  atmosphère 
of  hotek  It  is  now  one  o'clock  ;  Mr.  Longworth  lingers  to 
inform  thcm  that  he  wiU  c^U  to  take  dinner  at  ihree^  and 


once  more  forsakes  them. 

"I  don' t  think  I  shall  liké  your 
remarks  Marie,  lettrbg  dojfirn  ail 
J^d  g<jgjiair,  "  he  is  too  bnisqin 
>oin^H|like  Pïenchmen  m  tb 
tfiittf^mç  is  ^veiything  that 
^  llsh/'  /' 

fip-iOW»  S*iï*ibte,"aira"JE""dîtlilf 
**  an(l  not  at  ail  like  a  gentleman  to 
1K  bad  opinion  of  two  girls.    What  ^ly 


J 


igworth,  Pçtite," 

It  abundancc  bf  > 

Americahs  were 

ciiution  of  thie/^///# 

of  tlîft  most   Rng. 

a'     -.  ■  "'  ^  1 


Kein«  m^^^ 
^ted  by  the  good 
landsom*  roonm, 


*'  i"i  I  — — .   iiinitLJfc.i'^ 


,   -^«^  >  ^^^   >,   .'i  • 


"\  / 


:^ 


</!». 


M^ 


'GSAfri>MAMllfA*S  GRANÏipAUGHtERS.  75 

and  whjit  a  very  bright  and  busjrstreet.     It  is  like  the  boule- 
vards  in  Rouen."  ^  \ 

The  two  young  ladies  make  their  toilets,  and  then  ai- 
amused  and  interested,  and  watch  the  steady  stream  ôf 
people,  the  ceaseless  procession  of  reeling  omnibuses,  and 
jLhe  pretty  street  costumes  of  the  ladies,  Three  o'clock 
éomes,  and  with  it,  punctual  to  a  second,  Mr.  Lpngworth 
who  escorts  them  down  to  the  great  dining^l^ll,  lèads  them  to 
a  little  tfible  under  a  window,  where  they  çan  feastthpir  eyès 
and  their  patates  togèther.  The  dinner  is  very  good,  aAd 
Mlle.  Marie,  who  likes  goôd  dinn^rs,  appréciâtes  the  délicate 
French  cookery,  and  the  'dry  Champagne.  There  is  not 
much  t^lking;  what  there  is  she  and  Mr.  Longworth  mo- 
nopolize.  Reine  sitft'^ith  her  dark  still  (ace,  and  large, 
thoughtful  eyes  jîjced  morè  on  the  street  tlian  on  her  plate. 
Her  t^ste  has  not  been  cultivated  as  her  sister's  has,  délicate 
dishes  are  thrown  away^upon  hisr,-  «nd  Champagne  makes  ^ 
her  head  ache.  She.  wiU  hâve  only  cofifee,  black  and 
bitter.         ^  , 

s  she  sea-sick  Mr.  Longworth  inquires,  of  couvse^ 
Wretchedly,  madetçoiselle  responds  with  pathos,  unable  to 
lift  her  head  ail  the  way.  She  kept  her  berth  from  the  firèt 
day  to  the  last,  and  there  were  times<when  death  would  hâve 
been  a  relief.  Mr.  Longworth  expresses  his  sympathy  and 
^^^^*^^NÈ^\^'^^  *s  ail  men  do  under  the  benign  in^ence  ' 


H!fnr#r|  lie^uld  never  suspect,  he.murmurs,  ftom.  her 


present  4f^à?lnée  that  she  had  beèn  ill  an  instant.    As  she 
kept|)er  cabin  ail  theaway  over,  she  did  qpt  nieet  a  friend, 
of  his  who  also  cross^  a  Ia<W,^a  MisâHariott-      '  '^^ 

^'•I^et  no  one,  inonsieur,  no  onc.    But  my  sister  knowt 
the  lady.   JPetite.  it^  is  the  lâty  so  kind,  ôf  whom  you  havc 
n  told  iL.'^  ^^  ^         ^  ^        ^ 


often 


^^A;:i. 


V 


'■<ft 


'A 

M- 


,,      Mr.  Longworth  glail^  with^îie  nèarest  approach  to  fit- 
^^*-ïtion  he  has  yet  shopi  jtjg^ds  t|fr  sftéiit  sister.   A  pair  of 
fine  eyes  niet  hû 


.\^^-m 


iQai|^%^#iie  4e  <HÉideS|  <|iiitg 


'■  \ 


r 


y 


76   '         <:RANDMAIliMA*S  GRA^DDAUGHTERS.  ^ 

différent  from  the  golden  orbsx)f  the  other,  but  in  their  darkei' 
)  way  quite  as  attractive. 

"  1  know  Mees  Hariott  very  well,"  responds  Mlle.  Reine. 
'*'  More,  monsieur,  1  àlso  know  youy 

She  looks  at  him  wlth  that  sudden  smile  whicb  niakes  so 
bright  and  vivid  a  change  in  the  dark  quiet  of  her  face  as  to 
lend  it  jnomentarily  alrhost  beauty.  But  it  is  a  beauty  quite 
unlike  hef  sister's,  of  souH^  and  expression,  not  of  peaily  flesh 
and  rosy  bloôd.  i 

"  Am  I  indeed  so  fortunate  ?  But  cordial  friend  of  mine 
as  I  know  Miss,pariott  to  be,  how  could  she  reconcile  it  to 
her  con^cienc^  to  bore  a  perfect  stranger  with  my  manifold 
perfections  ?/* 

"  She  di^  not  bore*  me.  ^he  and  a  young  gentleman  bqjed 
one  anothér.  He  seemed  to  know  you  very  well  also.  His 
name  waj  Dexter." 

"Wh^t,  Frank?"  ♦• 

**  YeS,  Monsieur  Frank.     It  was  Mees  I^ott's  daily  habit 
to  ho}^  you  up  as  a  model  of  ail  perfection  for  Monsieur     . 
Fran^  to  imitate.     They  were  the  only  people  I  knew  on 
ôoard,  and  as  I  was  al  way  s  with  them;  your  name  grew  a  ♦ery 
farfiiliar  Sound  indeed."  . 

'^How  happy  am  I,"  says  Longworth,  "  to  possess  a  friend 
wh^,  not  content  with  appreciating  me  herself,  sings  my      ' 
praises  across  the  broad  Atlantic!     But  do  you  know  where  ' 
vshe4nd  Dexter  are  stopping  ?  for  no  doubt  they  will  put  up 
at  the  same  hotel."  \  ' 

No,  mademoiselle  does  not  know.     She  has  seen  ^nd  bid- 
den  Mees  Hariotl  good-bye,  knowing  they  woul4»  soon  meet 
in  Baymôuîh,  dut  their  destination  irf  New  Vork  she  has  not 
•leamed.    They^ger  long  over  dessert.     When  they  arise,    ^ 
Mr.  Longworth  proposes  their  coming  and  taking  a  bird's- 


-•jfe-vww^  the  ^^  Kttle^later—Neir  yofk  by  ^s-Iîght  TT 
worth  looking  at.  ^     ^  * 

The  young  ladiês  assênt,  and  \w  départ.    They  go  every- 


y..-'    ^: '.'^^^.^.É'^f^ ¥.î.v^'è 


é^ 


■-- 

--N-^,- 

ïâîS;: 


^,.^^ 


^r 


'}  ' 


GRANDMAMMA'S  GRANDDAUGHTERS. 


TJ 


1 


where  they  can  go,  and  see  everything  they  can  see,  in  the 
space  of  a  couple  of  hours,  and  still  it  is  early  when  they  re- 
turn. 

"Will  you  corne  to  the  opéra  this  evening?''  their  escor 
ioquires.  *'  It  is  not  very  warm,  ând  the  opéra  is  the  ever- 
charming  '  Figlia.'  *    , 

"We  hâve  no  costume,  monsieur,"  says  Mlle.  Marié, 
glancihg  deprecatingly  at  her  gray  serge  robe,  the  straight, 
clinging,  classic  folds  of  which  hâve  pleased  Longwo^th's  ar- 
tistic  eye  froni  the  first.  "  Apd  papa  is  not  yet  threé  months 
dead,"  says  Mlle.  Reine  in  a  veryvlow  vpice 

'♦  I  beg  your  pardon,"  says  Longworth.  "  I  quite  forgot 
that."  „  ■    ,^.,  ^        ■ ..  #^ 

And  then  he  wonders  for  the  first  time  why  thèse  gir| 
not  in  black. 

*♦  Papa  told  us  not  to  put  on  mouming,"  says  Mariè,^s 
if  answering  that  thought  ;  "  he  always  considered  it  a  use- 
less  form.  Hejknew  it  was  t)ie  heart  that  mourus,  not  the 
garnients.'* 

*'  And  we  werè  top  poor  to  buy  it,"  adds,  with  simplicity, 
Mlle.  Reine  ;  "  but  though  we  do  not  wear  crape  and  sables, 
we  cannot  go  to  the  opéra,  monsieur.'^' 

*'No,  certainly  not.  But  whejre,  then,  shall  |jrt|fl(KÉIu.?  " 
says  Longworth,  fef  ling  soniewhat  like  the  be^lOTrea  gen- 
tleman  who  was  préseoted  with  a  white  elephant.^^  ♦*  There 
are  many  other  places  — —  "  *       ■ 

♦*I  thmkit  would  be  besj;t''tô  go  no  where  to-night,"  an- 
wers  M^e;  "  we  are  tired^^  and  you  cannot  be  troubled 

th  us  always«'     We  will  go  to  our   rooms  and  retire 

y."  - 

Mr.  Longworth  prùtests,  of  (^purse,  that  it  is  no  trouble, 
that  it  is  a  pleasure,  etc.,  but  feels  inHue<)^rably  relieved 


irto  pari  Mlle.  Kèteè  ~mûf 
him  a  question. 

"  We  go  i%Baxmoutf  1:j|j»biT0w  ?  "* 


'%^ 


ilsl,    -vU  l^f       i    f 


\        ■% 


.'^ 


>*V:\t| 


%*. 


.S 


7ÇW? 


.  '  '''C 


^DM^mA'S  GRANDDAUCaTERS.  € 


4 


.# 


% 


^c  u!^"'  ""^"^'^°"  -•''^  ^o  ^--n  another  d^,  and 

"  Jnn'mately,  mademoiselle." 

She  hésitâtes,  and  looks  at  him  wistfi,llv      v.      .^Êm   "^ 
flionlyfineevesTfln»«,«.^u  r-  .  "  wistftilly.  ^Yes    ngftm. 

^^hite'is  aLtt  btuT^dt   ï'     "  T"'  ^^"  °^  -'^•^h  the  ■ 

WiH  she  bekmd  tous,  monsieur?"  / 

it  is  an  embarrassing  question      Wî»h  ♦»,.» 
tal-clear  gaze  on  his  faL  itT^!;    ^"^  ^^»' «a™«t  crys- 
fftte.  '  "  '^-""possible  èven  to  çquivo- 

l^-nKxpe  so,"  Hi  anîWers  slowly,  "after  a  l||Ié-i  think 

« c^U'^'^T''  ^  '^^'"^'derate  with  her,  aSrlit » 
^od-ght,"  she  s^,  and  both  bo^siUlta^^::.,,^^^^^ 

not  made  ^^^^T^  °"^  ï^andml^e„  were 
-Petite  ReiSSe^n^^^  ^  ^W  the  Uttl,  one 
"P  ^^"  '<à  °     i    °^  rfl  couldonlyhunt 

eyes  où  the  Street  «theiMA».™.!?     '""«nockets,  his 
him  on  the  .hoÛldyr^^*^*^  *  «PP«M«^  and  dap. 

«^,  of  shouldetl^aTbtS  ^bX  'S"  »'"""  '^  t««>* 
y     <«**"'»  beenlookingLa^ta^^?!*^*''"'    *' 


t..^\ 


K7^*^  ' 


'■'«'■* 


>^ 


■^ 


GRANDmMMÀ?:$  (^RANDDAUGHTÇRS.  7^ 


"  For  the  last  three  hours,  my  boy.     I  know  you  crossed 
in  the  Hesperia.     Is  Miss  Hariott  hère  ?  " 
'^  "  Oh,  she  told  you,"  says  Frank.     It  is  quite  charactcris- 
tiç  oi  Mr.  Dexter  to  make  this  remark  in  good  faith  withouf 
pausing  to  think  how  she  can  hâve  donc  it,  not  knowing  he 
^as  on  board,  until  after'they  had  started.     "  Yes;  she's  hère, 
but  I  dftn't  thinli  you  can  see  her  to-night  ;  she  was  dead 
tired  and  went  to  béd  early.     But  I  say,  old  boy,  how  un- 
.  comraopiy  glad  I  am  to  meet  you.     How  are  they  ail  id 
Bayniiouth ?    How  is Totfy ?" 
>*•  Blooming  and  lov€ly,  and  plumper  than  when  you  left." 
. ," Is  she?     Do  you  know,  I  Uke  plunip  women..    How  is 
myPolly?" 

"  Your  Polly  is  well,  and  as  uiicivil  as  ever.  A  more  d!»- 
reputable  old  bird  never  talked.  O'SuUivan  kas  taught  her 
to  sw«ar  in  Irish." 

*,'  Ha,  ha  1  "  laughs  Frank.  *  «'  How  is  that  exfled  Irish 
prince  ?  I  am  going  down  to  Baymouth  for  a  week  or  two 
•r-going  to  hâve  a  yacht  built." 

"Where  is  Trumps?"  asked  Longworth.  "You  didn't 
leave  him  in  Europe,  did  you,  a  présent  to  one  of  the 
crown^  heads ?"  fe»      ' 

"Not  likely.  Hère,  Trumps."  Frank Sjlcs.  and  the 
big  Newfoundland  cornes  lumbering  u^^|f  recognizes 
Longworth  with  démonstrative  doggish  deUght. 

"  l'd  like  to  fetch  a  dog  down  to  Totty,"  says  Dexter  ; 
"she  told  me  once  shé  would  like  a  King  Charles— they 
had  an  aristocratie  sound.  she  said,  and  I  know  a  little  wooly 
fellow  she  could  carry  in  her  pocket.  Do  you  think  she 
would  like  it  ?  " 

Among  Mr.  Dexter's  pet  habits,  and  thei^  name  is  legioq, 
is  a  grcat  and  absorbing  passion  for  animais.  Down  at  home, 
in  the  Georgian  Mansiont  hc 


kJlgJcegpg^Â  perfect  ménagerie^ 


from  sraall.white  mice,  to  great  black  dogs,  cows,  and  horses 
If  a  hippopotamus  or  an  éléphant  were  easy  uifles  to  get  ci 


S" 

M: 


lii,. 


^T*^   , 


■# 


k 


. 


*>   ,        GKAlfDtlAMM^S  GRAWDAVGaTMKS. 

Hri^,''''''"rT'  "^  ""  •■'p'"""  F"»k  womd  h.vl. 

H.,  firs.  impulse  „h.„  he  <l«ir«  ,o  rende,  him«U  agreeâwé 
.tlen,a„'s  „ould  be  to  preseW  her  wid,  a  bo„q„e,  T 

O Sullivan  home  once;  stray  curs  alwavs  hâve  a  HriXl-! 
ta  edhabi,  of  foliowingthe  aSuHi,an.  VeL\3Ï: 

tne  orner.  He  had  only  one  eye  and  three  lees-was  Ld, 
.  hopeless  and  forlom  spe«ac.e  .ha.  O.  r^i  Zi^^ 
«.me  assoca.,»,^  .of  ideas,  wi.h  à  certain  los.  cause)"  H^ 
C«n..r^„n  ,he  spot     I  think  ,he  name  bhghted  hin,  aTa 

vZhi7  "'^  8r<>*ingb..er  or  fuUer  he  disappeared, 

vanished,  evapora.ed„n,ade  fenself  thin  air,  and  ne«r  yZ 

S      :r^  .°'^'*"'™"  "^^^^  '»<'  =u,picionsTC 
Long»,or  h  and  û,e  cdok,  for  he  was  of  thieyish  prop^nsS 

to^hf    ■",^»'  r  «•^"'«v-Vand  madea»ay.revé" 

«teHUl"  """'■''  "--^  ^-'"- ''--'''"<'' W, 
"It  mayhave   been   consistent   Head   Center  nature '• 

fecto«  bu    u  wasn't  consistcn|t  dog  nature.     l'il  brin«  Z 
King  Charles  down  to  Tôt  ail  the  saine."  *  ™«  the 

"  -V  spanking  run  and  a  splendid  crowd  of  fcllo«r.creatures. 
^ns?H^m;'  lady-^Hfully  joUy  little  girl,  with  whom 
Afiss  Hanott  smick  up  an  inti:nacy.     I  wish  I  codd  find  hei 

— !ljWTiaLwag  Jier4iaw«?  "  i  =^ 

ei^ioiselle  Reine."  . 


"Madei 


^'^■it  ,î. 


"■/  il"    *?'*' 


f  ,' 


GXANDMAMUA'S  GRANÈ^DAUGHTERS. 


81 


«*Hhat  waîs  her  other  name? "    , 

"  I  don't  know.  We  got  on  with  that  She  was  French, 
and  that  eminently  convenient  word,  mademoiselle,  supplied 
ail  deficiencies."  i  , 

"ButherfnendsX^-"  I 

•*  Had  none.     Tràvelcd  in  charge  of  thc  captain.     Papa 

and  mamma  dead,     There  was  a  sister  whora  nobody  saw— 

she  appeared  to  hâve  taken  thc  vail^but  with  yirhom4 

wanted  to  fell  in  love.     Wouldn't  give  me  a  chance  though. 

^ut  herself  up  in  her  room  ail  the  way." 

"Pretty,  Baby?"  ^ 

»*Must  hâve  been,  with  that  figure,  that  air,  that  haïr,  thaï 
▼okîe,    Didn't  sçe  her  face,  but  knowr  it  was  stunning." 

*•  And  the  other  one?*;^     - 

*«  We!l  she  was  charming,  with  thç  eyes  ahâ  smile  of  an 
angel^  but  not  what  some  people—you,  for  instance— wcmld 
call  exactly  handsome,  you  know.  Miss  Hariott  fraternized 
with  her  as  she  doesn^t  often  with  strangers." 

«If  Miss  Hariott  liked  her,  aUis  said;  her  judgmcnt  ii 
next  door  |o  infalliblc.  I  présume  you  and  Miss  Hariott 
^  bored  thii  unfortunate  young  person  with  perpétuai  talk  of 
Baymouth?"*  ^  ^ 

.    "Well,  yes,uatarally,  we  talked  of  Baymouth  a  gpdd 

*•  And  of  Baymouth  poople?»  /  ^1* 

"^^  ■**"*|J^^"*~^°"»  *=»  inslance.'»^     f  /  ' 

sor?^^  '  )r^'^"  «^«T  by  any  chance  speak  of  Mrs.  Wind- 

«  Mra.  WihdsoVVthe  emprew  în  her  own  right,  who  used  • 
to  curdie  the  blood  in  niy  youthful  veins  whenever  she  said. 
Good  morning,  Master^rank,'  in  that  deep.  Siddons  voice 
ofhers  ?    No,  I  dpn't  think  we  ever  spoke  of  Mrs.  Windsor. 

-  ffHy  r    ■ ^-^^ — — — '—' ■ 


/ 


"  Nothing,'^  Lqngworth  answers,  with  4  peculiar  smUc. 
Hç»  thmking  ofihis  réticent  jlittle  dark-^y^jd  »ade»oia«lI«, 


# 


LU 


•  1 


'i.*"    '■*^    ' 


f  c 


82      ,       GRANDMAMMA'S  GRAITDDAVG^TERS.  ^ 

sitting  so  demurely  while  they  discussed  Baymouth,'and 
nevei-dropping  a  hint  that  she,too,  was  going'there. 

«  Wha^  has  brought  yoq  to  New  York,  Larry  >l'  înquires 
X)exter.    ^'Phénix  business,  I  suppose.     How  is  that  noble 
.  literary  bird  ?  "  -    . 

^•In  fuU  feather,  pluming  himself  foi^  fresh  flights.    Yes, 
Phénix  business  has  brought  me,  and  ^  it  is  satisfadtorily  -      ^      ^,f  1 
concludèd,  I  shall^return  to-morro^.     Suppose  you  éonie 
along." 

"Can't  Promised  Mi§&  Hariott  to  do  eseort  duty,  and 
she  is  going  to  st^;|r  a  week.  I  want  td  stay,  niys^lf.  Wîio 
knows  but  that  I  may  meet  my  '  little  ladies'  somé  fine  after: 
npon  among  the  other  belles  of  Broadway  ?  "   X 

"So  far  gone  as  that,  dear'boy?  Well,  fhe  night  wears" 
apace,  and  l'U  be  off.     So,  until  we  meet  at  Philippi,  adieu." 

"  J'il  walk  with  you.    Where  are  you  staying?    At  your 
old  qûarters,  I  suppose.     What  train  do  you  take  to-mor-^ 
row?    If -I  hâve  nothing.  better  to  do  l'IUome  and  see  yo»^^'*" 

.,..j"^^'  ^°"'t  troub)e,"  says  Lon«worth;  "we'll  see  enough' 
•  .  of  ^ach  other  sooi,.     hU  long  dW  you  tell  me  you  meant 

Vto  stay  irf^ymouth  ?  " 
;>    "'Oftly  a  week  or  two,  to  arrange  thrcontract  abont  tlje     ..^      «- 
yacht,  then  '  away  down .  South  in  George     Mjf„,mother  . 
and  the  govemor  pine  for  the  light  of  my  ingenuous  counte-       . 
nance  once  more.     But  I  shall  retprn  again  before  the  sum- 
mer  ends."  .         *     ,'      ^v       l.  v  .|/ 

^Mr.  Longworth  holds  out  his  hand.*  ..  '  .     ^       / 

«Well,  good-by,  my  Baby-^here-we  Wfiest  love  to        ^ 
|k«iss  Hariott  of  Bourse.    Takè  good  caffi  o(  hi^  ;  enstence  l 

inrBayn^ôtith  wouldbeabôrewithouthlf."  '      .V 


#;■ 


"  Tell  you  what,  Larry,"  says  Frarik^ 
h,  too^you  ought  to  marry  ■  Miss  Ha 
jrp.u  tblBe'Snëst  fibre  of  your  natifre,  as  _,, 
.  And  tbou^^  ahe'à  a  triie  too  olçl  ->^.-«'*«^ 


often  thought 


sObèwhert.. 


;«.' 

* 


b 


•    ij 


4- 


w 


}:»  ■ 


th;"  and 


inquires 

t  noble 

.    Yfis, 

adtorily  • 

<s> 

^w 

I  èome 

" 

ity,  an^' 

" 

'  ^ 

Mio      • 

(' 

le  after: 

■*i 

t  wears'  ,    ; 

adieu."  *■ 

:','- 

;■'■        J 

#^ 

*i 

lù  your 

to-mor-  %^ 

N 

« 

leeyo^^;;^ 

Î^ 

4 

**; 

m 

m... 

înough ' 
meant 


UXS.    WINDSOR  AT  HùàR, 


83 


^*Not  a  day  too  old.  I  asked  h«r  oflèë,  and  shc  said  no. 
Bless  yoU,#ihy  B^by,  and  goQd-night."  - 

He  waves^is  hand,  and  disappearsj  Frank  turns  to  re- 
trace  his  steps,  in  a  musing  mood.       ^ 

"Asked  her  once,  and  she  said  no  I  Wonder  if  he  did, 
thoûgh.  He's  such  a  one  to  chaflF;  biit  it  would  be  exactly 
like  him.  Oh,  jC^some  beneficent  fairy,  some  rnodern  As- 
modeus,  would  but  unroof  New  York,  and  sliow  me  where 
my'little  ladiés' are  at  this  moment!" 


■mà^. 


CHAPTER  vu: 


•*^ 


MRS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


■«l 


*■> 


:i 


>uttiîç^..^    /  ; 

nother  „ 

ount^>       ,         -. 

■  ■■ 

e  sijm- 

* 

)ve  to       '^  V 

'  •« 

stence           l 

\    -t; 

lought    /  >•    » 
d  luit 

iïhei»....    '\       . 

■  4- 

'• 

g, 


IHE  ten  o'clock  '  express  hext  nloming  bèars  away 
among  its  passengers  Mr.  Laurence  Longworth 
and  his  two  young  ladiJïs.     Mlle.  Marie  sits  5erene 

'  in  Ijer  loveliness  at  one  of  the  .  Windows— VUe.  Reine  sits 
be?idë  her.  ThaC  lovely  s(0tch  of  country  that  lies  between 
New  York  and  Boston  loékp  its  lovèliest^thià  genialsummer 
moming,  and  thç  dark  eyes  of  Reine,  weaiy  6f  resttess,  tôsl- 
ing  bîuo  wttter  for  so  many  days  and  nights,  gaze  a|^|houg^- 
they  could  nçyer  gaze  i^ejx  fill.     It  interests  Mlle.  Olidelle, 

.j>ut  not  to  th€  sanje  extent  ;  she  can  look  *t  her»,fellow-trav- 

^:iflers,  glance  over  the  illustrated  papprs,  and  converse  with 
monsieur.  "Monsieur  sits o^pésite  ;  to  liim  the  route  a^the  : "  - 

,|unKt|j^d8cap«  «re  v«y,  pld:  8ton>|.  «e  Ues  bact  and'  W  ^ 
K^tçhfe  f*  steadfa^tly  as  îk  Qbn|^t|ht  with  good  brecding  y  * 
file  faiç  §oWer  faee  bjefpre  h|i;p.    It  iia  fiice  lipon  whicfc  ^0t-  . 

-M>«pctttalrpl»as^e^y  gàgeHt^-yeitfafirHiTOW^^ 


■«î.  -m 


fectipp  of  feâture  and  colbring,  look  aîa'often  aSÉ^^  may,    ^ 
fëoBi  cver  ww.    Mm  \^M  Um  mgÊ0tS^  KM^ 


T^ 


■■iWi  a»^  '  1 


'»•,  '    /*: 


* . 


r  / 


* 


:** 


/ 


'  V- 


84 


JfXS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


flaw,  however  triffing  ;  Longworth,  no  mean  judge,  examin 
ing  t:ruically,  can  find  none  hère.  Many  men  glarice  in  pass- 
ing,  pause  for  a  second^as  if  struck,  then  glance  again.  If 
she  notices,  her  unconsciousness  is  something.perfect— if  she 
were  blind  she  could  not  be  more  outwardly  indiffèrent  to  it 
ail.  It  appears  to  Mr.  Longworth  that  she  accepts  this  eye 
homage  with  the  tranquillity  of  one  to  whom  it  is  such  an  old 
?tory  that  it  has  ceased  to  embarrass,  as  something  she  had 
been  accustomed  to  from  her  very  cradle,  and  so  has  ceased 
almost  to  observe  it. 

She  talks  well,  Longworth  finds,  in  a  soft,  rather  slow  voice 
and  IS  a  good  listener.  She  has  spent  nearly  ail  her  life  in 
XondDn,  it  appears,  but  has  visited  more  than  once,  Paris 
Versailles,  and  Roueii.  Beyond  France  she  has  never  been  • 
but  Reme  has  been  up  the  Rhine,  and  in  the  Tyrol  and 
once  spent  Holy  Week  in  Rome  with  her  aunt,  who  brought 
her  up  and  took  her  everywhere.  Longworth,  upon  this, 
glatiçes  at  the  petite  figure,  and  dusk  face,  and  still  eyes  of 
broodmg  darkness, 

"And,  in  spite  of  ail  this  foreigti  travel,  she  leaves  the  onus 
of  the  conversation  upon  us.  Or  is  it  that  slfe  thinks  it  too 
tnvial  to  join  ?     How  silent  you  are,  mademoiselle.» 

"  Reine  holds  her  tongae  in  four  différent  languages,"  says 
Marie,  wuh  a  smile,  and  a  caressing  touch;  "she  isa  won- 
derful  hnguist  and  niusician,  is  la  petite.  She  speaks  English 
and  French,  reads  German,  and  sings  in  ItaUan." 

"  And  yet  she  has  hot  çondescended  to  make  half  a  dozen 
remarks  in  any  language,  living  or  dead,  for  the  past  three 
hours."       , 

^"  You  and  Mari*  4o  it  so  well,  monsieur,  it  wduld  be  a 
pity  10  inlerrupt  And  t^ylway,  siupid  when  travehng. 
Besides  I  was  thinking."  ^"liP^  .  ^ 

«À  self-evident  fact.      If  ope  only  could  read  thoae 

•*  Thojr  wculd  oot  interest  you  ai  alJ^  monaiour," 


ij,"  '»  *  ' 


■V»,.! 


r| 


,  Jl 


> 


MRS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOafB.  8t 

}  \ 

Monsieur  is  not  sure  of  thaf,  but  he  does  not  say  so.     She 

has  the  head  and  brow  of  one  who  thinks  more  than  she 
talks,  and  is  a  young  lady  whose  thoughts  and  opiaions  on 
most  subjects  hiight  be  worth  hearing. 

"  I  met  a  friend  of  yours,  mademoiselle,"  he  says,  still  ad- 
dressing  himself  to  the  younger  sister,  "  last  night,  after  we 
parted.  He  is  lingering  a  whole  week  in  New  York,  in  ihe 
hppe  of  encountering  two  young  ladies  who  crossed  with 
him,  and  whom  he  calls  '  my  l.ittle  ladies.  '  He  is  desolated  ' 
at  having  missed  them  on  lândirig,  and  if  he  only  knew  their 
name  would  search  every  hôtel  register  in  the  city  to  find 
themt" 

"  Ah  !  Monsieur  Frank, 'î  laugh's  Reine  ;  "  yes,  we  missed 
«ach  other  that  last  day.     But  -he  never  saw  Marie."  ^ 

"Which  does  not  hinder  him  from  being  excessively  anx- 
ious  to  do  so.  Mademoiselle,  you  are  a  wonderful  young 
lady.  You  hear  thèse  two^  peopie  talking  perpetually  of . 
Baymouth  for  ten  long  days,  and.never  once  drop  a  hint  that 
you  are  going  there  yoursetf." 

Mademoiselle  lifts  her  eyel^ows.        .        *  .      ' 

"  But  wlyt,  monsieur— why  s^gjild  I  ?     How  coiijd  it  pos- 
sibly  interest  them  ?    And  thoi^lj  extremely  kind  they  i^ere 
yet  strangers,  and  we  do  not  tell  strangèrs  our  family  history,    ' 
and  where  we  are  going,  and  ail  our  biography.     Why  shbuld 
I  hâve  told  ?  "  ^  •> 

"  Mademoisella,  I  repeat,  you  are  an  extraordinary  yOung 
lady.  The  average  American  girl  would  hâve  taken  MiSs 
Hariott  into»  her  confidence  the  mrtnènt  the  name  of  Bay- 
mouth  passed  her  lips,  retailed  her  bwn  history,  aqd  ftund 
out  everything-  there  was  to  |nd,  çoncerning  Mrs.  Wihdsor 
and  her  future  h<ime.  You  da  not  M>eak  onô  word.*  |  con- 
gratula^te  myself  on  the  pleasure  of  knqwing  a  heroin«i  ^ho  ' 

^can  profoundly  keep  her  own  sf»rri»K"  ;  ■       . 

.  "^Ah  !  nQw  you  are  l^ugbing  at  me.  Aad  indee<},  I  wàs, 
Md  MN  aaxùm  to  koow."    A  trpubled  Wt^  cretoM  ioto  tbf 


*T  * 


■i . 


t#    .;^j  t.J|«i -^i 


»l 


A 


^ 


•'.^. 


•  1  iV 


■^ 


86 


MXS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


Histfiil  eyes,fi>ed  upon  hiriî.     "  Do  you  tell  u,,  monsieur-. 
y^  k^pw  her  well— what  is  our  grandmother  like  ?  " 
^^ike  a  queen,  mademçiselle,  if  queens  are  always  stately 
and  tall,  handsome,  and  high-bred  ;  severe  perhaps,  cold  cer- 
tainly,  but  a  lady  to  her  fiii^er-tips." 

.       '!'>  T/'"'''"^''  ^«/w^-I  ^aid  so.  Petite,"  murmurs  Marie.  - 
OolcL.^rtd  sèvere,  and  wé  are  cdining  uninvited  and  un- 
,  welconie,    Reine  resppnds,  under  her  breath. 
>     "  But  tothe  home  ihatis  ours  byright,  the  only  ho\ie  we  " 
havp  in  aU  the  world,"  says  Marie,;  afid  a  look  of  resolution 
that  is  nôt  uniike  Mrs.  Windsor's  own,  sets  her  young  face  - 
"  it  is  our  right  to  go  there,  my  sister."  ' 

"So!  "  Longworth  thinks,  "in  spite  of  your  pretty  face 
you  l^ave  a  will  of  your  own,  and  are  a  much  better  diplomat 

4han  petite  Reine..    1  foresee  if  madame  melt  at  ail  ît  «riU  be  ^ 
toward  you." 

Mr.  Longworth  on  the  whole  decidedly  enjoys  this  dafs 
ride  and  c^panio^ship.^  although  he  is  not  so  fascinated' 
that  he  caniVût  désert  them  at  intervais  for  a  brief  r^tïîW  ta  - 
the  smoking-^.    Among  allthe  enchantreàes  that  ever 
turned  the  heads  of  men  was  there  ever  one  yet  who  had  hot 
a  formidable  ny^l  in  her  loveç's  cigar-case  ?  ;        .- 

They  dine  tQgèthèr    in   very  friendly  fashion  at   two-      . 
Mademoiselle  Marie  manifésts  that  admirable  aupètit*  which 
perfect^health,  beauty,  and  tw.enty  sunny  yéars  r^quireoJjut 
Reme's  flags,  she  takes  little,  she  looks  restless,  and'nervols 
and  excited.     This  expression   deepen^  as   the  afternoon      ' 
wears  oni»  Longworth  sees  it  in  the  lafge  eyes.thntglance 
pp  at.him  dpoii  one  of  his  returns  from  siôoking.     Marie 
angelît  almost  in  heiï  slumber,  has  raadfe  a  pi%w  of  heî 

j*awî,re*pvedherhât,andsleeps-^lovçlyvi8io^       Reine        «^ 

lifts  a  waming  finger.  •  -     „  ^^         (^        ^^      ,  ; 

^^1  nioo6ieùr,;^he,8l(feps.    She  is  notaccusto^ied  4o 
raaway  ti-âve^~and>it  fat^iië^r.''      ,  \„   J  '  '         '        ^ 

.^e  io^  wiib  loyiigVia  at  Oui  ûOrv  siïtti^^^ 


\ 


^jÉv\^:^% 


Il  ■ 


/' 


V 


// 


1 


--••^ 


>'• 


.1- 


'», 


JIXS.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME^ 


«7 


fice.  Longworth  looks,  too,  with  the  admiration  he  cannot 
quitehidé  in  his  eyès.  What  a  model  she  would  make,  he 
thinks,  for  a  sleeping  beauty  ;  hbw  some  artistic  Bohemians 
he  wots  of  in  New  York  would  rave  of  that  wpndrous  chev- 
elure  oF  red  gold,  those  long,  aqpber  eyelasljies,  that  faint, 
délicate  flush  on  the  waxen  skin  !  I        ~ 

"  It  is  a  pity,"  he  says,  "  but  I  am  afr^id  we  must.  In 
five  minutes  we  ch!|,nge  cars  for  Bayniguth,'V<     ^^ 

A  filicker  of  fear  passes  over  her  faH,  and  he  sees  it  with 
a  touch  of  compassion  for  this  nervous,  sensitive  child.  ^ 

"The  other  will  be  the  better  qff,''  he  thinks  ;  "  this  poor 
little  créature  is  to  be  pitied."    ;^ 

"  Haw   long  before   we  xeach    Baymouth^  monsieur  ?  ' 
'Reinç  jnquïres.  '  ,11         ; - 

"  "  We  will  be  tjrere  at  ù  ;  it  is  riow  nalf-past  four.  .  Hère 
is  the  junction;  they^are  slowing  alre^y.  Pray  wake  your 
sisTer,  madejnoiselfe,  while  I  coUect  our  goods  and  chattelSk" 
i,  "Marie,  m' amour"  Reine  whispci's, and  Mari^ /Ppens wide 
her  lovely  eyesî      v  ^  ■  ' 

"  **  Are  we  there  ?  '"  she  asks,^  sùfling  a  yawn.         * 

Reine  explains.       .  \         .  -     ^;  \ 

"Change  cars  for  Ba3nmouth!"  «houtr; ^C:  conductor  ; 
and  preceded  by  ^ongworth  the  two  FiencKgirls  go,  and 
presently  ftnd  ihemselves  in  another  traiOj  and  flying  along 
in  anotl^er  direction  on  the  last  stage  of  their  jotirney  home, 

Fromthià  moment  Reine  does  not  speaSc  ;  she  looks  cold 
ând  pale^  atidis  tfembling  with  suppressed  nervous  excite», 
ment.    Marie  sits  tranquil   and  serene,  the  faint  flash  of 
sleip  yet  on -her  çheeks,.a  §mije  on  herlips,  a>fcw%  light  in. 
hér  eyes,  taUting  brightly,  and  without  $  trfem%  '  •  ,  '  ■: 

«  M  Ves,"  thinks  Longworth  for  tl^e  ihit'd  tin»>  '^>tfiir  Will 
do.  I  fancy  you  were  the  one  who  wrote  that  rehiàfkajt^ 
JBQol  W%     But  for  thJB  pf-tiff  Rpinr--  '''. 


/-^ 


*AkB  1  pobr  princèss,  tbtby.pitebtn  tabla 

^;    HiM»«iBad  wc»t  gipicji.*-  ; 


%■ 


■f^'t' 


t-f, 


.i!-J 


'm 


^:% 


I 


•  SiRS,    WTNpàoR.  AT  HOMS.      ^#        .. 

wincsor's  stem  household." 

of^  Bay^outh  rnills  and  factories  shriekforth  the  vTd  oie 

^a  dl'S        '"''  tbeirs^.,„.inghives,  they  entera 
ft»^  and  are  dnven  away  to  the  Stone  House.     .  7 

-Monsieur,  are  you  not  coming  withvp»?"  Rei„e  asks 
S  w!:^''  --Jnstmctively,.and  loolcin^  hi.::^  tl 
au  black  and  wide  With  vague  terrpr.  ^ 

«i^^'^"  ^°   *°   *''^  '*°°'"'"  I^ngworth  answers    kindiv 
«My  dear  Mademoiselle  Reine,  do' not  be  neTol  abo^;- 

She  mak«  no  reply  ;  her  small  face  h  absolutelv  colorl«. 
«sheshnnksaway  i„,„  a  corner  of  «,e carn^^tÔ* ,e ^  ' 
r  K  Tr""  "'"'"^'^  compassion  fills  Lo„g.,or.h  "Tôf 
herhe*,„ks  as  ,hey  drive  along  througl,  the  fa  "uik^  Ba° 

tress  the  Stone  House  nses  before  then>,half  hiddenin  trees. 
We  are  hère,"  says  Lopgworth,  somewhat  superfluouslv 

n.e'é.^;'air  '  ;'"  ""  """"■"^^'^  ««-^-^P'»»  "■»"  w 
^  He  shakes  hands  cordially  with  both.  and  a.  the  heavr 
halWoor  opens,  disappear^  The  rather  elderly  woman  "Z 
ad-mt,  them  looks  at  then,  with  curions  eyes.    ' 

■adief^rCFrit^r'""*'""""  *^"*'^  "**yo„ng 
Marie  bows  with  a  smile. 


"  "  -..  J 


Thea  y6u -are-W^yaMc 


ngkt  jn;  misas  will  te  ivith  you. 


10  a  itoinuto." 


■1  ' 


.f- 


MRS.    WINDSOR  AT^HOME. 


89 


i»»  > 


V, 


"     She  opens  the  door  of  a  reGeption-room,  handsome  and 

costly  in  every  appoirrtment,  but  with  the  chillair  of  a  state 

^artment   not  ofteh   used."    They   afe   not   more   than   a 

moment  hère  when  the  door  opens- and  their  grandmother  is 

«before  them.         \  « 

Sô  stately,  so  severe,  so  cold,  so  calrà,  so  royal.  * 

,.  Marie  ha?  §een  a  queen  more  thân  once,  but  a  queen  who 
didf n^ot  look  hailf  so  unapproachabk  as  this  lady  with  the 
silver  bair  and  smiléless  face.  But  Marie  L^ndelle  is  not 
easily  frigfateïied,  she  has  known  the  '^power  of  that  magical 
face  of  hers  too  long  to  doubt  its  potency  hère.  '  She  goes 
up  with  both  arms  outstretched,  anèy  touches  lightly,  and 
quickly,  and  gracefuUy  tîrst  onp  cheek  \.à  then  the  other.  • 

"  Grandmamma,"  she  says  softly,  and  tears  flrf'sh  into  the 
lovely  eyes,  **  wethave  come."  '    '.    '  > 

Neither  by  wotd  nor  sign  does  Mrs.  Windsor  reply.  sfc 
submits  to  the  caress  with  just  a  gleam  of  scotn  passing^ 
across  her  face,  and  her  eyes  rest  on  that  other  smaller, 
darker,  less  fair,  and  more  shrinking  form. 

"Reine,"  Marie  s^ys,  "come,  Petite." 

She  comes  forward  and  bows  very  low.  Mrs.  Windsor 
holds  out  her  hand,  and  Reine  lifts  it  and  touches  it  with  her 
pale  lips.     Then  grandmamma  speaks  for  the  first  time. 

"You  are  like  your  mother,"  she  says,  looking  full  at 
toi*é;.^d:thçre  isnota.  particle  of  émotion  in  face  or  voice, 
"  only  very  much  handsomer.     You  are  like " 

"I  am  like  yny  father,"  Reine  answers,  and  if  there  is  a 
ring  of  à^zxip  in  her  tone,  it  is  involuntary  and  unpreniedi- 
tated.  ' 

"  I  nevei^  saw  your  father,"  Mrs.  Windsor  responds,  and 
the  eyes  that  rest  on  Reine  are  full  of  chill  displeasure. 
"  Mr.  Longworth  "  -she  tums  to  the  elder  sister  as  she  says 

.'*  ramn  with  VOM    of  rniirtii  j>" 


■\' 


"To  the  door,  madame, 
attentive  ail  the  way.'* 


[e  has  been  most  kmd  zJLù 


'^-: 


1i>. 


-\     .,•> 


^/ir 


90 


JfJis.  ,fvmnso/t  a  t  home. 


*» 


" Mr^  I  oigwort^'cjuld  not  be  othemise  " 

«ver  ,„„  „.a,  j^if,,  ,„  ^'J  .^^Ij;^? ^  -"  fetch  ,„u  whe.- 
.     anp;!™-^''"»'  -«fa-,  wi.h  ,our  p„„,iss,„„... 

.     six-suflicien.  time  l  yoa  ,' T"'   /'  '^  ""- "alf-paa. 

''«nu  .hall  be  taken  up  «once      Y ''  ^Ti  '""•     ^°>" 
seven."  '  '^       """•     Y<">  "''U  liear._the  bell  4t 

She  motions  to  Cariifrin.  i»  i    j    .     v 

Me.,   make  a  slidinTobëLt  7n    ^''-     '^*  ^"""^ 

be  more  fo„,a,  L  ^LJ^ZJTZ  ~■*'^'■"<"^ 

ififoil"  shethinks-  "but  ',i..  ■ 
»  grandn>a™„,a  to  be  pro^lof      p  '  "  *  «^"''  "'d  '«'J'- 
unlike  she  was  ■     À  fin^l     '  ""^"""^  '  '«'»'  ""«ly 

Pi"u«s,  statuary  stth  L!      '*  '°°'  '"'P"'  "k*  Mvet^ 

'"■«.est.  we:;er:3t.TZ'e™™^^'  ""^'^»A»: 
;->i.e  a,,.d  tUt,  .0^  tLp^;  '7:1 1:^  -^«<'-  "p  »■  ■ 

'-es^  lac^draperies,  mirro^,  St  v^s    'T"  *"'"^  '''" 
"  Ah  !  thisis  charming  is  if  „L  T       ,      '«™"'  "'^"e"- 
F'-ench;  "and  ih^^T^Zl^    '  '^""^'     «^i'^  Marie,  in 
i»  différent  fron,  th,  wîw"    ,  h"  ""''"^  "^  *"*  '   ^h» 

toconie?»  l"r  Mclt.    Did  I  not  say  it  was  »ell 

"«'e   -vere    „o<    in.„lopers    at    Isling^n^        ' 


«yopdscurtly,=Ht^g 


URei 


llf    w 


<: 


n 


,<^' 


«"«y  ■odgingsw.re  ho^e^Ti,^ 


■  a 


X  ■■■■;■%: 


>     I 


Jlf^S.    WINDSOR  AT  HO 


breathe    in  this  Kouse.      I  feel  as  though   I 


prison 


9f 


.were  m  a 


"  You  wiU  outg^  ail  that,"  says  the  philosophical  Marie. 
"  Our  aunt  has  brought  you  up  badly,  Petite.  Heré  are  tlîe 
boxes  What  shall  we  wear  ?  Black»  I  suppose.  I  saw  the 
,  eagle  eye  of  gr'andmamma  fixed  on  our  poor  gray  serge— and 
it  is  an  eagle  eye,  keen,  sidelong,  piercing.  As  we  hâve  on!/ 
one  black  dress  each,  we  cannot  easily  be  at  a  loss.  That 
at  lea«t,  is  a  comfort."  '  "  ' 

She  laughs  as  she  says  it.     Her  sister  Idoks  at  her  ^Iniost 
enviously. 

'•  Would  anything  put  jou  out,  Marie,  I  wonder  ?  "     \ 
"Not^fine  hoùse,  a  dignified  grandmamma  in  rep\silk 

and  chantilly  lace,  and  a  speedy  prospect  of  high  tea  at  least. 

How  will  you  ever  get  through  thç  world  where  every  trffle 

has  pQwer  tb  mak©  you  misérable  ?  " 

"  Nof  very  well,  J  am  afraid,".  Reine  sighs.     "  Send-  away 

this  woman,  Marie;  see  ho»^  stares.     We  do  nqt  want 

Witlj  a  few  dblcet  worcfs,  Catherine  is  dismissed,  aliâ  de. 
scendsf  to  the  kitchen  to  extol  ta  the  skies  the  beauty  and 
sweetness  oî  the  tall  yourij  lady.  The  little  one  is  toô  'dark 
and  foreign-like,  Catherine  sapiently  opifles,  has  no  pretty 
looks  to  5peak  of,  and  isnU  nô  w^y  so  i^easant-spoken  as  ^ 
the  pretty  one. 

-^  They  dress-^Marie  in  a  tolerably  iiiew  black  silk,  Reine  in 
a  by  no  means  new  grenadine.  .^i|t  Ijotli.  dresses  in.iiiak«i 
and  fit  show  French  skiU  and.  talé,  and  both  dress  thçir  hair 
m  the'prevailingmoa^,^which,  by  soiiierare  chance,.hap,,ens 
to  be  a  becoming  one.  ,. 

«  I  shair  not  wear  a  sçrap  of  coIdV  anywhere,"  says  Marie, 
as  she  fastens  a  cravat  of  biapk  lac^  ^er  wHite  throàt  ;  •'  it 
will  noido  td  sho^tr  ^É^.^11^^^^,.  ^^,,,,j,„^j^      ,1 ^^^  ^ 


evening, 


IT 


\ 


She  does  iotieed  colcfn^fo  biack  silk  s^s  oh'uw  Oui 


il 


■Cr' 


■•■'     ) 


»    "1 


''.*# 


92  V 


JVfiS    mATDSOA^  AT  mm. 


face,  thé  Irivdy  brieht  haîr  Je  i    ir 

".'"''"tl"''  ''"  '""'«  «•  '      '*''""  •>"  Perfect. 

crnuson   roses,  a,,,!  fa,,^,,,  „„' •„   k  ^  ^""l''^» '■«>  <l«p 

.o  d:j^T.r  tiss  tr^^^^^^^  "•= ^--  -«  •-., 

7«h  «fc  .he  Cher  n^h  ,«e    ^^^^^^^  """^  '"'°«- 
*em,  and  4re-  h  a  sligh 7  Zls     "'/"""  ^'"  «■'"    ' 
%  *-  sea.s,  and  "ût        "p,r°r*=-  î;"'  '-"- 

Mlle.  Landelle  is  an  exception  ô  "''"""'=  *■"""  '"'<=-«' 
K  quality  she  certainly  does  fi^r""'^'"'  "">■  "»'  <^"« 
cooke,y  she  has  no.  T^  Len  ^^  ^  "'"""^  "»<•  P^^-' 
•>o<h,  and  can  appreciariH    k       !"*  '"'  ''"'  ^"^  k"o„s 

Ou.  of  considlatirLU^" '''' «''^ ''■='»■ 
table  is  abundan.;  and   ufe    ""'"«. '^^  "'  "•-='-  *« 

g^andda„gh.e,i,  ,V  ahnos.^tc  o";  "TJ",  "-.  ""welcome     • 
ha/l  "charming  manners  "  «T  /    f'°  '*"•  '^'»  'ady 

fd  rign.    An  .he    LTw::  11"?°"^'"  »"  4 
H'^,  became  «rorihy  „f  ir^^  ^"  '"•'H.and  a.i 

,  ji.e„  .he  «eal  ended  anLlTS"?  '"l  """"»'-    »- 
froreagain.    She  sa.  dow  ht^^    'i'""  ''""'J' '"''«  «'■'■ely 

;ap.  and  wa.ched  her  ^Z^^Z^'^T,  ""''1  '"  "" 
the   «om.  .  T,er=  was  a  ni»„„'  W  moved  abom 

"Penoi  it.  and  ran  i^ ùlJrZ:: IT^.^'' .'^'^  ^"i^ 
.  j  "c  oi  the  Windows,  and  wa.ched  Uie 


^^ï^ 


JT-' 


MRS^    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


93 


sweet  summer  twilight  falling,  and  the  sweet  sumnier  stars 
corne  out. 

"There  are  one  or  twothinggj  would  like  to  say  to  you 
youngladies,'VMrs,  WiiJdsor  jJPhs  at  last,  and  low  as,  her 
voice  is,  it  seems  to  jar  on  thè^llness  ;  "but  perhaps  it  is 
aimost  too  soon  to  speak  to-n^ht  It  is  always  best  to  corne 
to  a  perfect  understanding  as  speedily^s  may  be  ;  it  saves 
possible  unpleasantness  in  the  future.  But  if  you  wish  I  will 
defer  what  I  hâve  to  say  until  to-niorrow." 

"  Whatever.you  wish,  dear  madame,"  Marie  is  geotly  be-  ^ 
ginning,  when  Rejne  turns  suddenly  from  the  window. 

"  Madame  is  right,"  she  says,  a  ring  of  décision,  scarcely 
to  be  expected,  in  her  tone;  "it  is  always  best  to  know  çre- 
cisely  how  we  stand  at  once.  We  do  not  wish  you  to  defer, 
on  our  account,  anything  you  may  hâve  to  say  until  to-iïlor- 
row."  .  • 

"  Very  well"     She  looks  surprised  and  slightly  displeased 
aî*«^e  abrupt  interruption.     "  If  you  will  leave  that  window, 
and  sitdown,  ail  I  hâve  to  say  can  be  said  in  a  very  fe«^>^ 
minutes." 

Reine  obeys.  Marie  takes  a  low  rocker,  Reine  seats  her- 
self  in  Longworth'sesiJçcial  arm-chair,  her  small  face  looking 
white  and  still  in  the  faint  pale  dusk. 
l'I  need  not  tell  you,"  begins  Mrs.  Windsor  in  her  very 
ndest  voice,  '*  that  when  your  mothef  eloped  with  your 
father,  she  was  discarded  from  this  house  at  once  and  forever. 
I  nee(f  not  tell  you  that  she  wrote  me  many  Ictters  imploring 

pardon  and monéy.     I  need  not  tell  you  ihose  letters, 

one  and  ail,  tfere  consigned  to  the  fire,  and  never  answered. 
Ail  this  you  know.  When  your  father  wrote  of  his  wife's 
death,  it  did  npt  move  me.  I  neither  grieved  for  her,  nor 
regretted  her.  I  had  cast  her  out  of  my  heart  màny  years 
^aâbeen^dead  to  mo  from  the  houi  &lie  becaiiie 


y 


Monsieur  Landelle's  wife.  ^   Wherji^later,  you  informed  me  of 
his  death,  it  did  not  as'  a  matte?lSM||Éiftgé«icern  me^t  aU.     ^^ 


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«M  f'Wjisog  ^'r  jreùs. 


But  when  still  Ujer.  voim,  i  ^-  • 

your intention  oC  coLLûLitZ"'"'  '"'"'  """"«irtg 
»me  décisive  «ep.  Yoo  >,..^l  f  "*  necessaor  eo  take 
you  gave  oo  ad*L  .o  w,^h T^^Jn^'""  "'"  """"«'  "«i 
make  my  wia-.  "  "«sares-the  first  being  to 

«gut^rrotiolLi't;  w  r '■".*'■"  *'  '<»"■•  •^««>'« 

«'one  breaks  ti.e  ..  ^hf ^'n";'  "^"^  .*<"«  <>'  *-  «Peaker 
he'  «y«;  Reine  sies.  boA  haTd    ?"?'"•  ''"'■'•^"'l  ■"«- 
h"  lap,  asone  n,ighHnte  «,!,      """''^  ''^"'  "«  f«t  m 
eyesg,e.n,ing  i„  .t^nltSXesr"'"'  •"'^"^  P^»'  "" 

-vi™.^::i'te'^r';:^-«^"- vvinaso,  ...^^^^ 

bequealhed  every  dollar  of^/  ,  !.  "'>'•*"'.  a "dl 
■  accumuUting  in  ,he  WiMsor  flr^^l  7  "'''''''•  ''«  ^een 
Kars  .0  .he  on.y  h„n„;„*t.^;^™'^.^;. -^'^  "ne  hundred 
«>«  gentleman  who  brought  von  L  ïi  P""''  "=*™  «"• 
-or.h.  WUy  l  c„  fo,  C  ;:„  ^^  ^:;  ^"-"«  !-"«- 
remains.     My  wiù  i»  made    L     .  ^now-the  fact 

lusses,  is  bequeaehed  to  him  ••  '"''  *•""•  '^   *»'  I 

^^Sb^^n^^sagain.    S.i,.  pr„fo„„.ui,ence,  and  in  an  instant   . 

voZtrr  t^„'p^:;'"K„r  vr  '»  «°  ">  "-  ' 

on  each  sulBcient  at  least  .„  l  ^     "'"«  ""  annnity 

"as  my  faed  résolve     fl„?  ■1?"  '"'"  ^""^  "»"'•     That 
I^ng«-orth,,„d,oldhimofLX'"  f  "*•'  **"'  '"'  Mr.    . 
««i  informel  him  k.Z^^^^  ^""^  "'"  y""  le.te^  •-. 

Eveiy  few  minutes  Mrs.    Wir^A.^ 
P««««  Reine  can  he^The   »^  r  P*"'"'^  *"^  >"  ^^ese 
l-ebeUiou»,  passionate  h^J       ^"'^^  ^^  »»*'•  O'-»  ang^r, 

"Mr.  Longycrthiaamflnof 


\ 


^^Sï  ieind  spoÙMs  ipi 


T" 


-m«ir-i 


I ... 


refiiicdtoaccepttheforjant 


^À 


1-,» 


'.V  «' 


iài.    WIND&OR  AT  HOME. 


95 


offered  hini.     Ifè  so  positively  refuses  it,  that  it  beôomes 
necessary  for  me  to  think  of  some  other  disposition  of  it 
That,  however,  is  a  question  for  the  future.    Itold  hini  also 
of  my  intention /of  sending  you  back,  and  found  him  so  reso- 
lutely  opposed  to  it,  that  I  was  forced  to  give  it  up.     He 
-pleaded  your  right  to  corne  hère  so  forcibly,  that  at  last  I 
yielded  to  his  judgraent.     But  I  am  only  statine  the  simple 
truth,  in-Btâîîng  that  you  owe  it  entirely  to  ^im  your  being  V 
hère  now—tbat   thèse'  doors  ever  opened  to  receive  your 
father's  daughters.    To  Mr.  Longworth's  high  sensé  of  honir 
and  right,  y9u  owe  whatever  gratitude  may  be  due  for  the 
home  I  giye  you — not  to  me." 

Once  again  a  pause.      In  the  creeping  dark  Marie  still 
shades  her  eyes— in  Longworth:^  own  chair  Reine  sits,  with 
buter  hatred  of  Longworth  rising  and  swelling  in  her  heart. 
"  What  I  intend  to  do  for  you,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor. 
î»#a^ily  told.     Bèing  my  daughter's  daughters,  and  havu^^ 
received^u,  I  feel  it  duejo  myself  and  my  position    to 
receive  you  becomingly.     I  shall   présent  -you  to  the  best 
Society  of  Baymouth  at  a  réception  next  week  ;  I  shall  settle 
upon  you  a  yearly  income,  to  be  paid   in  quarterly  inst||tt.» 
ments,  in  advance,  sufficient  toenable  ypu  to  dress  well,-!»! 
ay    becomes    my    granddaughters,    without  troubling*  toe 
Your  first  installment  wiU  be  paid  you  tomorrow;  and, 
remember,  I  shall  expect  your  wardrobe  at  ail  times  to  do 
me  crédit.     Beyond  that  you  wiU  be  in  ail  things  yourôwn 
mistresses,  free  to  corne  and  go,  to  mingle  in  sqciety  hère, 
^«nd  to  make  friends.      Punctuality  at  meals  I  shall  expect, 
m  course.    This  is  ail  I  hâve  to  say.     I  hâve  spoken  plaurfiL 
\m  plam  speaking  is  always  best,  and  the  subject  need  nevèr'    ^ 
be  renewed.     I  look  ♦for  ncither  gratitude  nor  affection— I 
need  hardly  say  I  do  not  expect  to  give  it     And  now,  as 
yo»!  musLbfifatiguiîd  after  your  <iayJa4fitveHttg,  innH^tetanf-- 
rou  no  longer.     We  understand  each  other.     Is  there  any- 
thing  you  hav«  to  ««y  belWe  you  go  ?»    .  ^ 


% 


•'fe*'J«lï  %.^ 


96 


JfUS'.    WINDSOR  AT  HOME. 


"  Good-nighe,"  briefly  réponds  Mrs.  Windsor. 

Re.ne  does  not  speak  at  ail.     She  bows  in  passine  and 

rece,  b„d  „f  .he  haughty  head,  and  so  theyTa^;  „  J 

of  the  darkenmg  sHting-roon,  into  ,he  hall.      The    As  is 

■H»  hère      As   they  go   upseairs   ,hey  hear  Mrs.    Wtadsor 

™^7or  ..gh.-she  does  no.  like  ,ha.  .au„  J"^:::: 

As^  Retf  Tr\  '°?  *'  «'''  ''  ''"™'"8'  »<i  "■™"i  W. 
^:.X  4t^  '"^  "^"  ■-*  ^--  '-  -"  o.her  i„ 
"  Well  !  ■■  says  Marie,  drawing  a  long  breath  •  "  tbat  ii 
over  !     It  was  like  a  douche  of  ice-watef  on  a  wi-iterrorô 
.ng^    And  to  .hi„^  ,ha.  burfor  .he  blond  monZr  :i."X 

»x  ."r°^ha.7;ht::  oTS;.?.  ;r  „tns:*  t  ' 

eminen.ly  convenieai.     Thanks   m    , /°''"' ""'"«'"'^  « 
for  fevors  pas.,  presfn.,  and  .o  »lne  ,  ^    """  ''™«"°"*' 

ontV.:"'''  '^  '  "'"''™  '°""«^'  *™  «"'«^.herself 

"  I  need  not  mind  cmshing  my  black%ilk  »  .K.  .. 
Iaughing-"„,y„„epo„,  j,,.^dXpe„ny  s  Ik     11^ 

".rr ""-r '^•° ^'^^  ohrhrrp; 

!    7"/  u         ^'^  ^"'^y'*  "^«^Py  things.     Reine    Petite  * 
ge  nd  of  that  trag^c  face,  and  let  us  go  to  bed."      '  ^'''' 
To  th,nk,"    Reine  says,  in  a  stifled  voice,  passio«ate 
Jears  in  her  eves.  ««  tha^  1>»>  f»,  .u-. . .       7  Hassioyate 


wc  would  hâve  been  s.nt  back  like  beggU  ^X^r^^i 


j''t^AJtf    H    î         )k '-it,^» j-ji£i-«à*i:^     A  <*4     û  ^-j.     4k    a. il?  i.  W      ,  'v 


or  a  l»rief  instant 


MRS. 


IVIl/DSOR  AT  HOME. 


pleading  we  would  hjive  been  scorned  and  spumedr  Oi  1  I 
hâte  him,  I  hâte  hiin  1"  1 

«  I  always  said  the  aunt  did  not  bring  you  up  weft,  Petite 
Il  is  very  wicked  to  ^e  any  one.     And  the  blond  monsieur 
te  not  an  utter  stran^jer  to  oiir  gentle  grandmamma  kt  least— 
lid  she  not  say  he  wàs  the  only  being  on  earth  she  Eared  for 
\n  \  once  more  I  kiijs  his  Iprdship's  hand  for  the  gobd  he  has 


loue. 


"Mane,"  Reine  iinpetu4usly  bursts  forth,  "  I  ^iilh,  I  wish, 
\  wish  we  had  nev^i-  com4  !  I  did  not  want  to  corne  I 
^ould  rather  work  nfiy  fing^rs  to  the  bone  than  hâve  dainties 
flung  to  me  like  a  d^g.  Ç^  j  why  did  you  write  that  letter  ? 
yvhy  did  we  ever  c0me  hère  ?  "  « 

J  "Because  it  was/wise  td  write,  and  well  to  corne.     Listen 
nere  Petite."     Shf  lifts  l»ersel(  on  her  elbow  and  the  ga^ 
%ht  falls  across  the  whit« ioveliness  of  her  face.     "  It  is  very 
^ne  to  talfcofworking  one's  fingers  to  the  bone,  but  I  could 
Jot  do  It  and  would  not  if  I  could.     I  am  young  and  pretty/ 
I  hke  silk  dresses  and  sqft  beds. *hândsome  rooms,  and  good 
dmners,  servants  to  waît  on  me,  and  a  fine  house  to  live  in 
AU  thèse  we  are  to  have-all  thèse  we  hâve  a  right  to.     I  do 
not  thank  madame  the  grandmother,  nor  monsieur  the  friend 
.  f-  no  not  that  !     It  is  our  right  and  our  due.     Don't  you  re- 
^ember  what  poor  Léonce  used  to  say-'Man  has  a  sov- 
e«.gn  nght  to  ail  he  can  gef     For  ail  thèse  go^d  things  we 
Uike  a  few  cold  looks,  a  few  harsh  words,  and^réven  thèse 
timew.ll  change.     Go  to  bed,  Petite,  and  neVer  say  again 
you  hâte  Monsieur  Lon^worth." 

"Good-night,"  Reine^says,  and  gpçs  at  once.  «Sleep 
wcll,  my  angel,"  cheerily  responds  Marie,  and  then  the  tioor 
DCtween  the  rooms  closes,  and  each  is  alone 

Marie  goes  to  bed,  and  to  sleep,  but  long  after  that  beauty 
.  fP  ttaa  oegun,  and  siw  4iet-ttriier-darkeïsed  cHambérT~~ 

rZ  t    ;"^?«  '°'^""^^^'  *"<^  «--'"«^  and  youth. 
Remc  kneeU  by  her  open  window,  trying  to  «till  the  himul! 


/    . 


w^m^^ii-  >!^"*îi4*' 


.    t.  ,   ..  ï.  '*»*.*' 


r 


99 


BEFORE. 


tiious  bearing  of  her  undisciplined  heart,  tiying  to  banish 
hatred,  jll-wiU,  and  ail  uncharitableness  toward  this  «ranger 
and  look  at  things  calmly  and  reasonably  like  Marie.     But 
s»-e  is  neither  calm  nor  reasonable,  and  it  is  very  long  before 
sne  can  crash  down  ail   that   sinful  anger  and   rébellion 
Tears  fall  hotly  and  swiftly  from  betwecn  the  fingers  that 
Jiide  her  face,  broken  niurmurs  of  prayer  fall  from  her  lips  • 
something  about  strength  for  the  acconiplishing  of  «/a  volonté 
suprême,    O,   Dieu  notre  Père,-  and  with   prayer   cornes 
peace.     The  one  Friénd  who  never  refuses  to  hear,  call  when 
and  where  they  wiU,  the  try  of  sorrowing  human  soûls  for 
help,  sends  help  and  comfort  both,  and  as  she  kneels  the 
tears  cèase,  '^nd  the  starlight  falls  likfe  a  bénédiction  on  the 
bowed  dark  head. 


CHAPTER  VIII. 


BEFORE. 

jRANK,  my  dear,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  «this  is  grow 
ing  monotonous.     I  thought  a  week  of  New  York 
essential  to  my  happiness,  but  I  find  three  days  a 
great  abundance.     This  perpétuai,  never-ceasing  stream  of 
men  and  women  rushing  up  and  down  Broadway,  as  if  it 
were  what  they  came  into^the  world  for,  is  dazing  me.     The 
din  and  crash  of  the  streets  are  beginning  to  bewilder  me 
If  you  would  not  see  me  a  hopeless  maniac  on  your  hands. 
Frank,  take  me  home,  I  conjure  you." 
.      Miss  Hariott  makes  this  speech  at  the  hôtel  breakfkst-table 
where  she  and  Frank  sit  alone.     The  wintfow  atWîlich  thev 
»it  front?  on  Broadway,  and  the  usual  ebb  and  fk>w  of  humait 
Athat  ppHCT  up  and  dow<^  4hat  gwtlr«tef^^ 
.^bbmg  heait,  at  half-past  nine  of  a  fine  May  «orninft  il 


■>  .  •- 


^   "■' 


ÈJËFOXE. 


99 


at  its  heîght.  Mr.  Dexteri,  whose  matutinal  appetite  and 
spinls  are  excellent  as  usual,  protests  that  he  lives  but  to 
obey,  that  the  faintest  of  Miss  Hariotfs  wishes  are  to  him  as 
the  «/firnian"  of  the  Sultan  to  a  true  believer,  and  that  al- 
ihough  up  to  the  présent  he  has  cherished,  the  hope  of  en- 
.  countering  the  "  little  ladks,»  he  now  at  last  resigns  it  as  a 
hope  ail  too  bright  and  good  to  be  realized. 

"And  I  know  that  gii,f  with  the  vail  x^as  pretty,"  says 
Frank,  pathetically  ;  «it  ishard  lines  after  devoting  myself 
as  I  did,  ail  the  way  across,  to  Mademoiselle  Reine,  to  part 
at  last  and  forever  without  so  much  as  one  good-by.  But 
such  are  the  floorers  of  fate." 

"  How  do  you  know  you  hâve  parted  forever  ?  "  sây's  Miss 
Hariott  «  I  don't  countenance  betting  as  a  rule,  but  I  am 
wilhng  to  wager  a  box  of  gloves-number  six  and  three^uar- 
ters-^hades  dark-browns  and  grays-that  before  you  are  a 
week  older  you  wiU  hâve  met  again  the  «  little  ladies  " 

"  Done  !  "  cries  Mr.  Dexter,  and  producing  book  and  pen-' 
cl  on  the  spot,  gravely  enters  the  bet  :  "  six  and  three-quar- 
ters,  dark-browns  and  grays.  Miss  Hariott,  if  you  hâve  their 
New  York  address.  let  us  go  up  and  callupon  them  atonce. 
I  shal  never  breathe  easily  until  1  hâve  fulfiUed  my  desttny 
and  fallen  in  love  with  that  girl  with  the  golden  hair  " 

«  Frank,  I  wonder  if  ail  young  men  are  as  hopelessly 

idiôtic  as  you  are,  with  your  perpétuai  talk  df  falling  in  love. 

As  if  great  hobbledehoys  of  two-and-lwenty  could  know  what 

he  Word  meant.     No,  my  precious  boy,  this  is  our  last  day 

V^TÏ'  *"ly°".**-^  *°  '"^^  »"«  to  Greenwood  and  Vrol 
pect  Park,    That  will  occupy  the  day.     We  will  get  back  to 

Wbk^l:  rr'  *"'  '''"  "^  '''  «°'"«  ^^  -''^'P  ^- 
w^n  K  i  fu  \  t«-™orrowmorning'8'earliest  expre,^  we 
w^U  shake  the  wicked  dust  of  Gotham  oflFpur  wanderip^eet 


V 


\  ■  "i 


'A**  .'"A.yV^À 


t' .  <■'  JA, 


3Rk\ 


ir 


400 


9EF0RE, 

,  -1. 

Pay  attention  tb  what  t  am 


I» 


"Never  mind  what  I  said. 
sayingnow."  î 

"  Yaq  said  I  «^jg^ipTmy  little  ladies- 
^^^  'y^»-.  Dexter,  I  ara^^  m^  way  to  nlyr  apartment  to  put 
on  lïiy  bonnet  for  our  excttr^n.  Yqu  are  to  stand  at  thi«' 
door  and  wait  for  me  until  I  come  down,  and  on  penalty  of 
thc  eternal  loss  of  my  friendship,  you  are  not  so  mtich  as  to 
name  any  ladies,  little  or  large,  in  my4earing  for  the  rest  of 
tlie  day." 

Upon  which  Miss  Hariott  "sweeps"  out  of  the  room,  and 
Frank  sighs  and  resigns  himself  to  his  destinv.  Presently 
she  reappears;  they  hail  an  omnibus,- and  go  rattling  off  to 
one  of  the  ferries,  to  begin  this  last  day's  sight-seeing. 

It  is  a  long,  warm,  sunny  day.  Frank  forgets  his  troubles 
and  enjoys  it,  looks  at  ail  the  handsome  vaults,  and  moife. 
ments,  and  niausoleUms  with  the  complacent  feeling  that  he 
is  on  the  right  side  of  theni.  Laie  in  the  mellow  afternoon 
they  return,  and  the  programme  is  gone  through,  dinner 
■  Booth'sj  and  the  last  day  in  New  York  is  at  an  end.  Next 
normng  sees  them  on  the  train,  and  next  evening  sees  thein 
safely  back  in  Baymouth. 

"  Dear  dirty  New  England  town  !  "  murmurs  Miss  Hariott, 
as  she  lies  back  in  the  cab  and  watches  with  contented  eyes 
the  flitting,  familiar  fendscape  ;  "dear  disagreeàble  North 
Baymouth.  I  salute  you!  Frank,  I  would  insist  upon  your 
ccommg  home  and  stopping  with  me  during  your  stay,  only 
I  know  it  would  Bore  you  lo  death,  and  that  you  would  ever 
so  much  rather  go  to  Mrs.  Lofngworth's." 

"  Well,  you  see,"  says  Fra4,  «  Larry's  there  and  the  rest 
of  the  fellows,  and  I  always  *op  there,  and  it  would  put  you 
oqt  hornbly  to  hâve  a  çreat  fellow  likè  me  knocki.ig  abouf 
your  little  doll's  house.  Thattks  ail  the  same.  Miss  Hariott. 
It's  awfuUyjoUy  to  be  with  yoU—shouldn'l  wish  for  bettei 


-Jompanyairmylife-~buHttw«A/irotyDuom,y6u¥n^^^^ 
" An^put yr u  out  a great  deal  more,"  lauglp  Miss  Hariott 


■■à^fA: 


■'-^ 


/-.: 


BEFORB. 


n  to  what  I  am 


lOi 


Miss  Hariott 


«I  understand,  Master  Frank.  Give  my  regards  to  Mr. 
Longworth  ;  teh  him  to  corne  and  see  me  as  sooh  as  he  can  j 
and  r<br  yôu— show  your  gratitude  for  ail  the  care  I  hâve 
tak*n.çf  you  since  we  met  in  the  Hesperia  by  dropping  in 
everydny." 

Theylshake  hands  and  part.  Miss  Hariotfs  home  is  a 
cottage,  mâny  streets  removed  from  either  Mrs.  Longworth'g 
or  the  Stone  Hoose— a  tiny,  two-story  cottage,  with  honey. 
suckle  and  Virginia  creeper,  and  ail  sorts  of  climbing  things 
m  front,  and  grape  vines,  and  thrifty  peach  and  plum  trees" 
in  the  rear. 

A  doll's  house,  as  Frank  has  said,  with  a  big  bay  window 
bulging  ont  of  one  end,  fiUed  with  roses,  and  fuchsias  and 
nch  géraniums.  A  house  "  too  small  to  live  in,  and  too  bi^ 
to  hang  to  your  watch-chaîn,"  as  Longworth  quotes,  but 
amply  large  for  Miss  Hariott  and  her  one  hapdmaiden  •  large 
enpugh,  too,  for  Longworth  hiraself  to  be  luxuriously  lazy 
in,  many  a  time  and  oft.  The  one  servant,  a  tall,  thin 
beautifully  neat  and  intelligent  mulatto  woman,  opens 
door  to  her  mistress,  at  sight  of  whora  her  whote  yellow  ■ 
lights  and  glows. 

"  Well.  Candace,"  Miss  HarioÇ|  saysr  holding  out  her 
hand,  "home  again,  you  see.  Ah  I  we  don't  need  the  old 
song  to  tell  us  there  is  no  place  like  it.  How  good  it  seems 
to  see  the  dear  little  house  and  your  familiar  face  And 
how  are  you,  and  how  are  the  birds,  and,  the  flowers,  and 
everythmg,  and  everyb<5dy ?"  ' 

"  Everything  and  evbrybody  are  well,"  Candace  answers. 
smihng  jubilantly  ail  over  her  face,  and  "bless  the  Lord  that 
missis  ,s  back  safe  and  sound.  And  Mass  Larry,  missis, 
he  s  been  hère  eyery  day*'  most  to  look  after  the  garden 
and  see  that  it  was  fixed  as  you  li|ced.  And  there't  a  big 
^ay^n  the^parlnr  now^^issis^hat  he  seul  «i  bour  W 
cause  he  said  there  was  no  knowio'  what  arternoon  you'd 
corne.    And  tea's  reâdy,  missis,  and  jest  as  soon  as  I  heli» 


W\ 


ièéi^  ^i>i«Wf^  -  '",  <«, 


i 


a^.^.'t-^\ 


r-î. 


> 


a 


102 


BRPORR. 


fcjch  in  thèse  tn:nks,  l'il  bring  in  the  things.  And  blesi 
tte  good  Lord,  niissis,  that  you's  back  again.  It's  been 
powerful  lonesoine  now,  I  tell  yer,  since  you  went,  and  Mass 
Larry,  missis,  he  say  so  too." 

Miss  Hariott  goes   into  the  pretty  parler,  with  ils  lace 
ciirtains,  and  délicate  adomments,  its  piano  and  weH-fiUed 
niusic-rack,  its  tables  strewn  with  ail  the  latest  books  and 
niaga/ines,  and  on  a  little  stand  Longworth's  big  bouquet., 
She  glances  at  it  and  sniiles— it  is  like  him  to  think  of  her, 
and  send  this  to  wdcome  her.     Çvérything  in  the  roonv  is 
associated  in  some  way  with  him;  thèse  books  and  periodi- 
cals  are  from  him  ;  she  is  his  reviewer  sometimes  when  he  is 
in  a  merciful'mood;  that  sunny  Southern  landscape  over 
the  mantel  is  his  gift  ;  there  is  his  favorite  placç  at  that  open, 
Ve-draped^window,  where  through  so  niany  long,  warm, 
summer  evenings,  through  so  many  blusterous  winter  nights, 
he  has  sat  and  talked,  or  read,  or  listened  in  a  waking  dream 
to  her  music— her  true  and  good  friend  from  first  to  last. 
And  thefe  is  no  one  in  ail  the  world  quite  so  de^r  to  her  as 
this  friend.     He  is  the  sort  of  man  to  whom  many  wora^n 
give  love,  not  alone  the  love  of  which  poets  sing,  ahd  novel- 
ists  Write,  as  if  human  hearts  held  no  other,  but  friendship 
Strong,  and  tender,  and  true,  ail  the  nobler  and  more  lasting, 
^erhaps,  because  utterly  unblended  with  passion. 

While  Miss  Hariott  sits  in  her  cosy  home,  and  sips  her 
tea  in  the  light  of  the  sunset,  Frank  Dexter  is  dining  with 
the  boarders,  and  retailing  his  adventurea  by  land  and  sea. 
They  are  interested  in  thèse  adventures,  but  far  more  inter- 
csted  in  an  event  which  is  to  corne  oflF  the  day  after  to-mor- 
row.  •  Mrs.  Windsor— everybody  there  is  profoundly  inter- 
ested in  Mrs.  Windsor— Mrs.  Windsor's  granddaughters'hftve 
arrived  from  Europe,  and  on  the  eyening  but  one  from  thii 
they  are  to  be  presented  to  BaymOuth  in  form.  They  hâve 
■been  attbe^SteaeHougc -for  four  daytt,  bat  n» tme  te»  seen 
them  yet,  it  would  appcar,  exc«iit  Longworth.     Longwortjï 


l-  ,/ 


BSFORfi, 


103 


met  them  in  New  York,  Longworth  escorted  thetn  hom^ 

and  has  spent  two  evenings  in  their  society,  and  Lohgworth 

bas  been  plied  with  questions  on  ail  sides  siijçe,  with  breath- 

less  interest  and  eagerness.     Are  they  pretty  ?     But  Mary 

Windsor's  daughters,  cry  out  the  elders  of  the  party,  must 

uf  necessity  be  that,  and  then'the  Frenchman  was  said  to  be 

an  uncoinmonly  handsome  man.    That  old,  half  forgotten 

story  has  cropped  up  from  the  dust  and  ashes  of  the  past, 

and  Mary  Windsor's  romance  of  one-and-twenty'^years  ago 

has  rung  the  changes  over  and  over  during^  thèse  four  days, 

at  every  dinner-table  of  note  in  the  town.     And  did  Mrs. 

Windsor  send  for  thèse  girls,  and  are  they  to  be  her  Jieir- 

esses,  and  are  they  really  handsome,  and  are  they  thorOugh- 

ly  French,  and  do  they  talk  broken  English,  and  will  every- 

body  Mrs.  Windsor  knows  get  cards?     There  is  a  flutter  o( 

expectation  through  Baymouth,  and  Mr.  Longworth  of  the 

Phénix,  the  only  man  who  can  enlighten  them,  awakes  ail  at 

once  and  finds  hirhself  famous. 

He  takes  the  breathless  questions  that  beset  hmi  in  his  cus- 

tomary  phlegmatic  way,  smokes  and  listens,  and  laughs  a  li.ttle, 

and  drops  a  few  syllables  that  are  as  oil  to  the  fire  of  curiosity. 

Frank  Dexter  pricks  "R^k^^^^^s  he  listens,  with  an  in- 

terest  quite  asCgreat  as  th^f  thcise  around  him. 

"  Came  four  days  ago,  and  landed  at  New  York.  The 
He'speria  landed  four  ^ys  ago  at  New  York.  What  vessel 
did  they  cross  in,  Longworth  ?  " 

"  The  Hesperia,V^8ponds  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly,  help- 
inghimself  to  mint^sance.  ^  | 

"By  George!"  ^ries  Dexter  with  an  enèrgy  that  makes 
his  hearers  jumpj  «that  is  what  Miss  Harfott  raeant  when 
she  bet  the  gloveS.  Mrs.  Winflsor's  granddaughters  are  itty 
Little  Ladies."  T  ,  . 

'    ^^^^^^^^  "^  demandèd  and  given.     Dexter  is  excited 
-«  Are  their  n^eslRëinç  and  Manc7**  le  demands  bf  Lonir  " 
worth.  '     '  ^ 


.a 


r 


104 


BEFORE. 


••  Marie  aiwj  Reine—Marie  is  the  eîder.     Calm  yourteH 
\   my  Baby,"  says  the  unerrotioital  Lopgworth;  "Jthissort  o< 
thing  IS  eminently  detrimental  t^  the-  proper  exercise  of -the 
dfgestive  organsr-"  ,  - .     '    .  ^^ 

'♦  Hang  the  digestive  ôrgans  !  Is  Mlle.  Reine  small  and 
dark,  with  splendid  hrown  eyes,  Very  wJ^ite  teeth,  a  delighU 
fui  shiile,  an^l  just  the  fairvtëst  foreign  âcceïSt^?  " 

"  Ail  thèse  goad  and  lilea^ant  gifts  Mlle:  Rein^ejoiees  in, 
my  Baby.  Splendid  eyes,  as  you  say,  large,  dark,  luminous, 
with  a  sunny  smile  in  thera.  And  there  are  so  few  eyes  that 
smile.     Npw  for  the  other.»'  ,        ,      - 

"Ah  !  I  never  saw  the  other:  She  kept  her  cabin  ail  the 
Way,  and  I  ohly  had  a  glimpse  of  her  vailed.  But  l'have 
had  a  conviction  from  the  first  that  she  must  be  stunninelv 
pretly."  *  "^ 

"  Stunningly  is  hàrdly  an  adverb  of  sufficient  force  when 
apphed   to   Mademoiselle  Landelle.     She  is  the   prettiëst 
woman  I  ever  saw. .  It  isn't  a  question  of  eyes,  or  nosé  or  ' 
coniplexion,  or  hair  or  shape-though  thèse  are  ail  about  - 
-perfect,  I   should  say;  beautyand  grâce  encircle  her  as  a  ■ 
halo,  she  walks  iir  theni,  they  surround  her  as  an.  atmosphère. 
Everythmg  she  dpes,  or  looks,  or  says,\is  gracefuJ  ;  and  when 
sheneither  does,  rior  looksi-or  says  at  ail,  she  is,  if  possibje 
more  graceful  still.     In  short,  Mlle.  Marie  Landelle  is  oae 
of  those  masterpieces  of  création  which  refuse  to  be  de-  . 
scribetl,  which  must  be  seen  to  be  bçlieved  in." 

AU  this  glowing  eulbgium  Mr.  Longworth  pronounces  in 
a  tone  devoid  of  every  particle  of  earthly  émotion,  with  a 
face  guiltless  of  the  faintest  trace  of  admiration  or  enthusi^ 
asm.  He  goes  placidly  on  with  hîs  dinner  as  he  talks,  and 
pas«es  his  plate  for  another  help  of  peas  as  he  concludes. 
Mrs.  Longworth  langhs  shortly  as  she  returns  the  plate. 
.  «  Are  fou  in  love  with  her,  Laurence  ?  I  never  heard  /ou 
■oenlhusiastiç  about^y^oa^4eforer*= 


"  Did  you  not  ?  "  says  Longworth.     «  I  thought  you  had.' 


V^T^ij^^i^'^.^is^^^^^^^^J^^^^ 


>.*■■.  ■  » 


Va 


( 


BEFORJ^ 


10$ 


r_ 


^is  éyeflift  from  the  pc'âs,  and  fix  first  on  her  ànd  then  on 
""  her  daughfer.     "Irememberl  used  to  bore  you  with  my 
rhapsodies  long  ago ;  buta n)an  who  runs  a  daîly  and  wcekly 
Phénix  bas  hardly  tinie  for^liAt  sort  bf  thing."  '    .       ,    - 

"  You  couldn't  do  be|ter,^Longworth,"  says  Mr.  ééckwith  ;^ 
\**eadh  of^Aese  girls  will  get;aMnillion  and  a  half/    And  it 
«he»s  the  beautyyou  soyritwdïildpay  betterthân  the  Phénix, 
A  fellow  like  you  ovres  a  duty  to  sbciety— he  ought  to  maiTy 
and  settle.** 

"And  faith  i^s  a  settler,  l'm  told,  most  raen  firid  it,"  - 
murmura  O'Sullivan  in  his  corner. 

"It's  sonjething  évery.man.of  thirty  owes  to  his  country," 
pursues  the  speaker,  who  is  himself  a  fuU  décade  over  that. 
golden  âge,  and  a  bridegroom  ofbarely  two  months'  standing, 

"  Thirty-one  and  a*}ialf,"  lazily  tesponds  the  editor.  ; 

"It's  somethln^  no  fellow  can.ùnderstand,?'  saysr  Mr. 

jQ'SulKvan,  still  pianissimo,  "  why  men,  when  they  run  into 

the  matrimon^ial  noose  themselves,  ^rè  so  eage/  to  drag  their 

fello^v-morj^ls  mto  it.     It^  the^old  principle  tbat  misery 

loves  compamy,  I  suppose." 

"  At  thirty-two  every  raan  should  be,  as  St.  PaW  says,»  the 
husbànd  of  one  wife- — " 

'^I  beg  your  pardon,  St.  Paul  neversaid  anything  of  the 
sort." 

-    "He  said  every  bishop  should  be  the  husband  oCone 
wife "  ,  *      w, 

"  Lpngworth's  not  a  bisbop,"  interrupts  Fi«nk^  "  so  jthe 
text  doesn't  apply."       .      -     . 

"In  such  high  feather  as  yoii  are  with  the. bld  woman, 
too,  it  would  be  the  eas^st  thing  in  the  world.for  you  ta  m> 
in  and  wîn-: — " 

"  Don't^call  Mr?.  Wihdsor  the  old  woinan,  Beckwith  ;  she 
wouMn  t  like  it    No  more  do  I,".guts  in  Longworth,  and, 


V 

V 


istèilwitli  an  thèse  interruptions,  Mr.  Beckwith  reUï^et 
into  his  dinner.      . 


-Si 


i^ 


^ 


■m>-r^^£^:' 


■fs 


.  K 


it. 


io6 


BBF&RB, 


./   V 


'5^.. 


*'And  when  is  the  party?  to-morrow  night?"  inquiref 
Frank.     "  How  many  of  you  hâve  invitations?  " 

No  one  has  an  invitation,  it  would  appear,  except  Mrs.  • 
Longworth  and  Mrs.  Sheldop.  Personally  Mrs.  Windso- 
likes  neither  of  thèse  ladiésj  '  but  they  are  connections  of 
Longworth's,  and  as  such  are  bidden.  The  boarders  do^ot 
belong  to  that  innêr  circle  who  visit  at  the  Stone  Hoûse. 
Longworth  being  the  house-friend  of  madame  herself,  his 
invitation  goes  without  saying. 

**!  wish  I  had  a  çard,V  Frank  sa^s  plaintively.  «I 
used  to  be  on  the  Windsor  visiting-list.  I  wonder  if  she 
knew — ^  "m 

"  I  think  I  may  venture  to  take  you,  Baby,"  says  Long- 
worth, as  they  rise  from  the  table,  "  though  it  is  an  act  of 
wanton  cruelty  to  expose  that  too  susceptible  heart  of  yours  ^ 
to  the  battery  of  Mlle:  Marit's  dazzling  charms.  Even  if 
you  do  go  clean  out  of  your  sensés  at  sight,  promise  to  try 
and  restrain  yourself  for  this  first  evening,  for  my  sake,  won't 
you?" 

Frank  is  ready  to  promise  anything.  They  go  on  the 
piazza,  seat  themselves,  produce  cigars,  and  light  up.  The 
women  flutter  about.  them,  and  Mrs.  Sheldon,  iir  a  dress  of 
J)àlest  blue,  against  which  her  plump  shoulders  glisten  white 
and  firm  as  marble,  takes  a  jiassock  at  Longworth's  sidé,  and 
looks  np  at  bim. 

"  Is  she  really  so  pretty,  Laurence— so  very,  very  pretty  ?  '• 

He  glances  dolvn  at  her.     The  warm  after-glow  of  sunset 

is  flushirig  sky,  and  sea,  and  shore— it  flushes  too  for  thè 

moment  Laura  Sheldon's  railk-white  skin,  or  else  she  colors 

Qnder  the  steadfast  look  of  Longworth's  eyes.  h 

"•Totty,  when  you  don*  t  wear  white  you  should  àlwayt 

wear  blue.     Very  sweet  thing,  that,  in  the'way  of  dresses. 

JKhat.inay  JtH  liamp  be^jJ 


"W|iat  nonâensel    This  dress  pretty  ?    Why,  it  k  0^1^ 
my  old  bli)e  Japanese  silk."  ^u^ 


>  ^ 


/  . 


Il»  ^ 


^M^Ê',' ■'|Ç^^3w^^MteVj.îi'i..irf V   iv\i.,^.>a.-jt-iiv4«| 


BEFORM. 


lOf 


''Howold?» 

«  »■        

"  Oh  1  a^es  and  âges.     I  got  it  last  sommer.  ** 

"  Ag«  and  âges,  and  she  got  it  last  summer  !  What  are 
y  ou  going  to  wear  to  the  party,  Totty  ?" 

"Pink,"  says  Mrs.  Sheldon,  and  her  face  dlmples  and 
smilei^  and  she  clasps  two  rosy-ringed  hands  on  his  Jtnee 
and  looks  up  into  his  face  with  infantile  blue  eyes.  "  Sî^r. 
mon  pink,  that  lovely  délicate  4ijc*  &nd  my  pe«^:l  necKlace. 
Are  you  going  to  dance  ?    YoPiDn't  always,  you  know." 

*'  I  know— my  unfortunate  chronic  '  laziness.  I  look  up- 
on  dancing  as  so  mùch  idiotically  violent  exertion  for  no 
particular  resuit.  But  I  intend  to  do  myself  the  pleasure  of  ? 
waltzing  with  you.  We  always  had  each''other's  step,  yon' 
^remember,  Totty." 
,  Mrs.  Sheldon' s  heart  gives  one  great  sudden  beat.  Rè- 
member  \  Does  she  not  ?  What  Laura  Sheldon  -nine  ye«rs 
ago  threw  from  her  as  she  might  a  soiled  glove,  she  wdiilâ 
give  a.year— yes,  full  half  her  life — to  win  back  now.  She 
removes  her  hands  suddenly,  and  there  is  silence.  Long- 
worth  puffs  serenely,  apparently  profoundly,  unconscious 
of  the  resuit  of  hb  words;  It  is  the  lady^  however,  who 
fpeaksfirst  v  '      '    .« 

"  But  ail  this  is  not  «i  answer  to  my  question,"  she  sajrs. 
"Is  Mademoiselle  Landelle  so  vtay,  very  pretty,  lamy  ?" 
'  '*The  prettiest  girl  I  ever  saw^in  my  life,"  is  the  prompt 
and  uncompromising  answen  ^ 

She  bitès  her  Ups.  For  little  Mrs.  Beckwith,  the  bride, 
bas  approachèd,  and  enjoys  her  discomfiture,  / 

"Isshedarkor&ir?'f       ^       .   t      .     ^ 

"  Fair,  of  course.    Did  I  ever  admire  dark  women  ?" 
.  *•  The  tiuestion  is,"  says  Mrs.  Beckwith,  pertly,  *<  did  Mr. 
Ix>ngworth  at  any  period  of  his  career  «dmiriB  aoy  w^ipuuk 
p^aedayf 


"  Hâve  I  ever  made  any  secret  of  my  «dniin^n  for  the 
\»àm  of  tia«  ^KEwaehol4 ?    As  ^  «| n)K|ii%WfitM  Qook' 


uT- 


J 


%    1        y 


1 


108 


BÉFOXE, 


W^ 


with  bas  permitted  me  to  show  it,  hâve  I  evtr  made  any 

secret  of  my  admiration  for "      ~ 

**  Oh,  nonsense  1  But  really  and  truly,  ever  so  long  ago, 
when  you  were  quite  a  young  man,  for  I  don't  prétend  to  call 
thirty-two  young,  did  you  ever  seriously  admire  any  woman, 
fair  or  dark — ^in  thc  way  of  falling  in  love  with  her,  I  mean  ? 
Because  I  believe,  Mr.  Longworth,  you  belong  to  the  cold- 
blooded  kingdom,  and  couldn't  fall  in  love  if  you  tried.'*  " 
"  Half-past  seven,"  says  Longworth,  looking  at  his  watch. 
"  Miss  Hariott  bas  come,  and  I  must  call  upon  her.  Totty, 
you  knew  me  when  I  was  quite  a  young  man — tell  Mrs. 
Beckwith  hovi^'Iused  to  lose  my  head  for  blonde  beauties  in 
that  fossil  period.  I  haven't  time^  Ladies,  I  go,  and  leave 
my  character  behind  me." 

Longworth  approaches  Frank,  who,  at  the  other  end  of  the 
stoop,  is  renewing  his  acquaintance  with  his  friend  FoUy. 
PoUy  tums  from  him  at  sight  of  a  more  familiar  face. 

"  You'U  come  to  grief,  Larry  !  Nom  du  diable  I  Sacr-r- 
ré  bleu  I  You're  a  fool,  Larry  !  You're  a  fool  1  you're  a 
fooM" 

"  There  never  was  such  a  vituperative  old  virago,"  says 
Longworth,  looking  affectionately  at  PoUy,  who  sits  with  her 
head  on  one  side,  and  her  black  eyes  ùpon  him. 

"  Come  with  me  to  Miss  Hariotf  s,  Baby.  She's  used  up, 
I  daA  say,  after  her  day's  ride  ;  still  I  want  to  see  her,  if 
only  for  a  moment." 

He  Ibks  his  arm  in  Frank's,  and  they  go  up  the  street  to-  - 
gether  under  the  eyes  of  the  boarders. 

"  Lucky  man,  that  Longworth,"  says  Mr.  Beckwith  ;  "  one 

HOf  those  fellows  bom  with  a  silver  spoon  in  their  mouths."     . 

•*  Don't  seem  to  see  it,"  retorts  Mr.  O'SuUivan.    "  He 

hasn't  converted  the  spoon  in<.o  specie  yet,  at  laste.    The 


^hayni»  is  ail  very  well^  «nd  piq^rperhaps  r  btttitisrftTrftHr- 
tune,  and  never  will  be." 
5J  don't  iiMui  the  Pkfnm,    I  ncwi  inpie  Vtvu^pki^ 


',^M^^ 


BEFORB, 


109 


e  Street  to- 


Sure  to  many  one  of  'ern,  and  come  into  a  whole  pot  of 
money  when  the  grandma  dies.  AwfuUy  sweet  on  h  un,  the 
grandira." 

"  Isn't  it  a  thoiisand  pitiés  she  doesn't  take  hini  ^erself, 
then,  and  hâve  donc  with  it."  w 

**  A  man  may  not  jnarry  his  grandmother,"  says  Mr.  Beck 
with  gravely,  "  but  he  may  raarry  her  granddaughter.  Then 
he  can  hand  the  Phénix  over  to  you,  O'SuUivan,  and  fanry 
U  after-dmner  ail  the  rest  of  his  life." 

*•  I  hâve  just  been  telling  Mr.  Longworth,  Harfy,  that  I 
do  not  believe  he  ever  was  in  love  in  his  life,"  says  vivacious 
Mrs.  Beckwith,  "and  he  refers  me  to  Mrs.  Sheldbn  for 
proof."  -      * 

"  And  what  says  Mrs.  Sheldon,  my  dear  ?  " 

"  Nothing— which  is  suspicious.  A  little  bird  whispered 
to  me  the  other  day  that  he  once  was  in  love  with  Mistress 
Totty  herself.     I  begin  to  believe  it." 

"  And  we  always  return  to  out  first  love,'î-  says  Mr.  Beck- 
with.    "  And  smoldering  fiâmes  are  easily  rekindled." 

"But  the  hardest  things  on  earth  to  relight  are  dead 
ashes,"  says  his  wife  under  her  breath. 

Mrs.  Sheldon  hears,  and  rises  suddenly  and  leaves  the 
group. 

"  Doesn't  it  strike  you,  ladies  and  gentlemen,  that  this 
discourse  is  the  laste  in  the  world  in  bad  taste  ?  "  suggests 
Mr.  O'SuUivan.  "  Mrs.  Sheldon  heard  that  stage  aside  of 
yours,  ma'am.  Suppose  we  let  Longworth  and  Tiis  love 
afiairs  alone,  Beckwith.  He  lets  ours,  you  may  take  your.^* 
oath.»  ^^ 

He  certainly  was  at  that  moment.    Still  smoking,  his  arm^' 
through  Frank's,  he  walks  slowly  along  the  quiet  streets  in  ^ 
the  gray  ofjhe  '"°°"^"'  ^^^°'"g'    '^^  jy""g„^''*^tory  jadiea. 


_\ 


dressédln  ffièir  bcst,  are  s^tering  by,  eatlf  on  the  ârm  of 
her  sweetheart;  pianos  tiri^>ere  and  there  through  the  sil. 
VBi]^  diMk,  ttftri  of  Ught  begin  to  gleàni  behind  dosed  \Xt^ 


tio 


BBFORS. 


Tlie  trees  stand,  green,  motionless  sentinels;  wafts  of  mig. 
nonette  greet  them,  the  bay  spreads  away  into  the  sliimmer- 
.  irg  far  oflFline  of  sky,  and  stars  pierce  the  hazy  blue.  It  is 
an  hour  that  has  its  eharm  for  Longworth,  and  in  which-his 
silent  familiar  takes  possession  of  him  ;  but  Frank  is  inclined 
to  talk. 

"  What  an  odd  fish  you  are,  Larry,"  he  is  saying,  in  an  in- 
jured  tone.     ««  Why  couldn't  you  tell  me  that  night  in  New 
York,  that  thèse  youn^  4adies  were  with  you?    I  spoke  to 
> you  about  them.    Youloust  hâve  known  who  I  meant." 

«*  Don't  talk  to  me  now,  thaf  s  a  good  fellow.  I  never  can 
thoroughly  ettjoy  a  cigar  and  talk,  and  this  is  capital  Shut 
your  mouth  with  one  I 

"  You  know  I  don't  smoke  ;  that  is  why  you  are  so  un- 
commonly  gênerons.  I  consider  it  a  beastly  habit— a  man 
making  a  funnel  of  himself.  There  I  was  hunting  New  York, 
like  an  amateur  détective,  three  whole  blessed  days,  and  ail 
the  time  those  girls  were  hère." 

"Baby,  let  me  alone.  Let  me  forget  there  is  a  woman, 
young  or  old,  in  the  schéme  of  the  universe,  for  ûve  minutes, 
if  I  can." 

"  Yes,  that  is  so  Ukely,  and  you  going  hot-foot  to  visit  one. 
You  would  not  even  let  me  come  to  see  you  oflf  that  morn- 
ing,  because  they  were  with  you.  You  may  think  this 
friendlyif  you  like,  but  I  don't" 

.  "  Frank,"  says  Longworth,  removing  his  cigar  and  looking 
darkly  at  him,  "  if  you  don't  hold  your  longue  l'U  throw 
souiething  at  you.'* 

Frank's  grumbling  subsides  ;  he  is  heard  for  a  moment  or 
two  muttepng  about  dogs  in  the  manger,  and  the  beastly 
selfishnessdf  some  people  ;  but  this  dies  away,  and  profound 
silence  bcfitting  the  hortr  ànd  tiw  editor's  humor  falls  upon 
them. They  are  some 


twgntjLJPMlftteîLJiLjrfiaching  j>ittt. 


Haiiotf  s  cottage,  where  lights  sbine  chcerily,  and  whence 
xxmxxf  inusic  conaM.    Miss  H»riott  ri^^s  ^om  \^  )^aiifik 


'ff 


BBFO^M. 


'./  " 


"f 


•% 


■ot  at  «II  too  tired  to  grecttod  welcomerthe  two  «ntle- 

"  It  is  good  to  see  you  home  «gain,  Miss  Hçster,"  Long- 
worth  says,  throwing  himself  into  a  big,chair,  a  génial  look 
m  his  cyesi  "Whenever,  during  your  absence,  I  felt  par- 
ticularly  dead  tired  and  despondent,  whèn  subscribers  refùsed 
to  pay,  when  ail  the  world  was  hoUow,  aiid  life  à  dreary 
mockery,  I  used  to  corne  hère  and  sit  in  this  châîr,  and  hâve 
w  Candace,  and  talk  of  you.  I  used  to  fetch  your  letters 
hère  to  read.  I  don't  say  doing  this  was  altogether  satisfac- 
tory,  but,it  was  the  best  that  could  be  done  under  the  cir- 
cumstances." 

"Don't  believe  a  word  of  it,  Miss  Hàriott,"  interposes 
Frank.  "A  greater  humbug  than  Longworth  never  lived. 
Instead  of  spooning  hère  with  Candace,  and  weeping  over 
youMetters.  he  was  in  Mrs.  Windsor» s  back  parlor  drinkinu 
tea.  I  never  thought  it  of  you,  Lany  ;  but  you  are  turninï 
.eut  a  regular  tame  cat.  Beckwith— though  a  fool  in  a 
gênerai  way-was  correct  in  his  reniarks  at  dinner  to^lay,  by 
George  1  If  a  fellow  doesn't  marry,  and  give  half-a-doren 
hostages  to  fortune  before  he's  thirty.  he's  certain  to  develop 
into  a  tame  çat"  *^ 

"Then  let  us  trust  you  wUl  act  up  to  those'noble  senti- 
me'nts,  Baby.and  présent  your  first  hostage  to  fortune,  in  the 
shape  of  a  wife,  as  soon  as  may  b^.  Though,  at  the  same 
Ume,  the  rôle  of  tame  cat  is  byno  means  to  be  despised. 
Do  you  put  m  an  appcarance  at  Mrs.  Windsor'a  '  smaU  and 
early   on  Thursday  night,  Miss  Hariott  ?  "       / 

"I  havc  a  card.  Tes,  I  think  so.  JPranfc,  don't  foi^et 
those  glovcs— SIX  and  thrve-quarters " 

"  Dark  browns  and  grays.     Oh,  V\\  not  forget,  although  1 
f'"''  ''  l"J^^^y  unfcandsome  of  jrou,  k,W  HariotÇ^ 


«.like  hisMl6shnes.j  but  I  wouldn't  haveeipected  it  of 
'"*«?*,  T«>«J«w  kw>wn%ho  tlMo.  TO«>!t  ,,",.. 


S--. 


•^^ 


.^:5^. 


112 


BEF09E. 


"  Do  you  remember  that  night  when  she  refuse^  lo  sing 
in  the  sîdoon  of  the  Hesperia,  but  said  she  hoped  to  sing  for 
us  yet  ?     It  flashed  upon  me  at  that  moment." 

"By  Jove!  what  it  is  to  be  clever.  But  then  my 
was  always  made  of  wood— never  had  a  blessed  thi 
flash  upon  me  in  my  life,  give  you  my  word.  Lon^ 
says  the  oiie  I  didn'r  see  and  wanted  to  see  is  a  gem  df  the 
first  wàter.  In  fact,  as  he  raves  so  much  about  her  beauty, 
and  as  his  talent  for  domestic  fiction  is  so  well  known,  I 
begin  to  believe  she  is  pock<marked.     Did  you  see  her  ?  " 

"  I  liad  a  glimpse  of  her  that  last  day,  jn  saying  good-by, 
and  I  did  n<H  notice  any  pock-marks.  It  is  as  well,  how- 
ever,  to  take  Larr/s  enthusiasm  with  a  pipch  of  sait.  A 
poet  in  the  past  is  apt  to  be  rhapsodical  in  the  présent." 

"  Don't  allu4p  to  the  poetry,  I  implore,"  says  Longworth 
It  <  is  really  one  of  the  few  vulnérable  places  in  his  armor, 
that  by-goùe  volume  Of  Shell  ey-and-water.    .Miss  Hariott  pos- 
sesses  a  copy,  arid  holds  it  over  him  in  perfiN^tual  terrorem. 

"Miss  Hariott,"  says  Frank,  "I  searthed  every  book 
store  in  New  York  for  a  copy  of  Larry's  pœms—oh,  good 
lud,  poems  !— and  I  give  you  my  honor  I  couldn't  find  one. 
Now,  you  hâve  the  book,  I  believe.  Look  hère  l— ail  ladies 
like  diamonds — l'il  give  you  the  handsomest  diamond  ring 
in  Tiffan/s  for  that  book."  - 

"If  she  does," says  Longworth,  " l'U  hâve  your  blood  with 
the  bootjack  before  yôu  sleep  to-night' 

"  I  managed  to  get  a  copy  of  his  novel,"  pursues  young 
Dexter— "  •  Pire  and  Flint'  TTiat  wasn't  hard  to  get,  bless 
you  I  The  publisher  issued  five  hùndred  for  the  first  édition 
— thought  he  had  got  hold  of  a  New  York  Dumas  yS/x—told 
me  80 — and  he  has  four  hundred  anj|^»eventy-five  on  his 
shelvcs  to  this  day.  That  was  seven  years  ago.  You  had 
better  think  it  over.  Miss  Hariott  ;  no  one  will  ewr  main; 


you  such  an  offer  again— the  handsomest  solitaire  in  Tifikny*! 


(hr  Longworth'8  poems  1 


4 


^ 


BEFORE, 


113 


0' 


jr  blood  with 


«Thank  you.  TU  think  of  it,"  responds  tfie  l^dy.  "  It 
is  a  pity  the  giftecl  author  couidn't  hâve  sold  them  alliât  thc 
same  price.  Laurence,  tell  me  how  you  like  our  two  young 
ladies  from  France  ?  " 

"One  of  them  is  not  from  France.     Barring  the  slight 
drawback  of  having  been  born  in  Paris,  and  having  had  a 
French  father,    she  is,   to  ail    intents  and    purposes,   an 
English  girL     She  has  lived  in  London  ail  her  life.'* 
.  .  *lAnd  the  ot^er  in  Rouen.     She  told  me  that,  although 
sjie  was  wonderfully  réticent  about  herself.     Think  ^pf  the 
little  brown-eyed  pussy  sitting  there  so  demurely  dày  after 
day,  listening  to  Frank  and  I  discoursing  Baymouth,  and 
.  never  dropping  a  hint  that  shë  was  going  there." 
Longworth  laughs  slightly. 

<•  She  is  a  young  person-^  whb  can  keep  her  own  secret  if 
she  has  any  to  keep,  and  hold  her  own  with  the  stately 
grandmother.  I  don't  think  Mlle.  Reine  and  Madame 
Windsor  will  hit  it  off  weU.  Mlle.  Marie  is  far  wiser  in  her 
génération  than  the  little  one." 

"I  can't  like  Mrs.  Windsor,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  impetu- 
ously  ;  "  I  can't  forgive  her  for  being  so  flinty  to  that  poor 
daughter  of  hers.  How  dare  she  leave  her  in  poverty— be; 
cause  she  ran  away  lyith  the  man  she  loved  ?  I  suppose 
poor  Mary  Windsor  did  die  jpoor  ?  " 

"  Madame  Landelle  certainly  died  poor — extremely  poor, 
from  what  I  can  leam.  Marie  is  communicative  "  énough. 
Landelle  taught  French  and  music— mamma  was  always  ailing 
--who  evi^r  knew  an  American  màtron  who  was  not  always 
ailing  ?— hpr  doctor's  bills  so  ran'away  with  poor  Landelle» 
carnings  that  they  were  perpetually  in  debt,  pcrpetually  re- 
ceiving  notices  to  quit  from  indignant  landladies.  I  cart 
infer,  too,  that  poor  ms^nma  was  fretful  and  fractious,  eter 
M^y  bewailing  thg  lujmfy  of  the  paa  and  the  roisery^of  the^ 
presf  nt.  I  think  that  unlucky  Hippoly te  Landelle  must  hâve 
realizçd  the  diâmal  truth  o'f  the  proverb  about  marrying  in 


;j 


3* 


-^è^^^i^.X 


-4, 


";'■  k 


"4 


BBFORB. 


\ 


haste  and  r^penting  at  leisure.     I  thirik  he  fully  expiated  hî« 
sin  cf  runnmg  away  with  an  heiress.     But  she  is  dead  now 
rest  her  soûl,  and  on  the  whole  Madame  Windsor  is  dis-' 
posed  to  act  generously  towards  her  granddaughters." 

abruptl^  '^^  '"^  *"  ^'""^'^^  "  '"^"•'■'^  ^^'''  "*^'°^^ 

"  Well.  you  know,  indisçriminate  kindness  is  net  one  o^ 

Ae  ^eaknesses  of  her  nature.     In  her  own  way,  and  if  they 

will  let  her,  I  thmk  she  is."  ^ 

"  What  do  you  mean  by  if  they  will  let  her  ?  " 

if  .h^^  '^7T-  "''"  ^''"^  ""^P'  '"'"^^^'  if  the/humor  her, 
if  they  take<|)ains  to  please "  .        ' 

"  If  they  cringe,  if  they  fawn,  if  they  toady-bah  I  I  hâve 
nq  patience  wkh  the  woinan,  nor  M-ith  you  either,   Larry 
when  you  défend  her.  •'  ^' 

«Corne,  now  Miss  Hariott,  dont  let  your  feelings  carry 
you  away.      She  /.  kind.     Does  npt'this  party  l^k  S 

"  Tins  parly  is  for  her  own  sake,  not  thelrs.  '  I  an,  fte 
gréâtes,  lady  m  theland;  it  is  due  ,o  .ne  Um.  my!îl„d! 
daughters  are  received  in.o  ,he  very  bes.  ciPcleTont 
mnnfacunng  New  England  town.     Having  received  the^ 

Iike  ,hem-Aey  are  inernders  ;  but  I  an,  Mrs  Windsor,  of  the 
S,r.,e  House,  and  nobility  obliges.  Therefore,  they  sh^l^ 
V^ented  to  awe-s.rioken  and  admiring  Bayn,o„.h  ta  a  1„^ 
«-./#,  .m.r,  on  Xhnrsday  nigh,'  D^on-t  le.  us  t^ûk  Zt 
It ,   I  hâve  no  patience  with  the  woman,  I  rèpèat  " 

you,  M,.s  Hanott,  if  you  had.  She  is  a  profoundly  di^ 
appomted  wo^an-disappointed  in  her  ambition,  ftove, 
Ijnd  her  pnde.    And  it  is  not  your  „m^  to  be  hird  on  ^ 

^^Ijank  yon,  Lany.^siyaMi».  JlMimvandiiolds  oui  to    ' 
l»n«l    "You  ar,  .  Wend.    Corne,  what  d»Il  i  pUy  fi» 


/4a;«tAi»4v;tsiva-.^®|ji^M*-;^iSï 


.  -,) 


"X 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


"5 


jron?  Hère  is  one  of  Chopin's  marvcls  in  two  dozen  flats, 
and  no  end  of  double  sharps — will  you  hâve  that?  " 

They  linger  long^  and  Candace  brings  in  tea  and  transpa- 
rent biscuits.  Longworth  is  "  tame  cat  "  enough  to  like  tea, 
and  sips  the  cup  she  gives  him  with  relish.  They  fall  to  gos- 
siping  about  new  bookiS^until  Frank,  whom  literature  very 
naturally  bores,  yawns  drearily,  and  brings  the  eye  of  his 
hostess  upon  hinih^ 

"Take  that  child  home  and  put  him  to  bed,"  she  says  to 
Longworth.  "  We  might  hâve  known  it  was  dreadfuUy  in- 
discreet  to  allow  a  boy  of  his  tender  âge  to  sit  up  until  a 
qtïarter  of  eleven.  Good-night,  Franky;  good-night,  Larry, 
and  thank  you  for,  everything." 

They  go  home  to  the  white  house  facing  the  bay,  ail  ashine 
in  the  light  of  the  young'  June  moon,  andi  Frank  springs 
^  to  bed  whistling  "  My  Ix»ve  is  but  a  Lassie  yet"  He 
would  like  to  dream  of  his  Little  L'adies,  he  thinks,  but 
neither  the  dark,  dreamy-eyed  Reine,  nor  the  girl  with  the 
golden  hair,  visit  his  sound  slumbers  ail  night 


A. 


■  u 


CHAPTER  IX. 

NOBt^SSE  OBLIGE. 

IHE  evening  comes.  There  is  flritter  and  pleasant 
tumult  in  many  Baymouth  homes,  as  maids  and 
matrons,  sons  and  fathers  array  themselves  for  Mrs. 
Windsor's  grand  field  night.  Il  is  a  radiant  summer  night, 
âweet  and  starlit,  scented  with  the  odor  of  ddwy  roses  and 
mignonette,  a^erfect  night  for  youth,  ma  gladness,^^t^ 
ing  and  making  merry. 
Afker  considérable  rurainatio^û  which  ^e  h^  ignored 


l^^4î 


•.Vif.^  „  >i 


'l'i?" 


ti6 


ArOBZ£SS£  OBLIGE. 


the  young  ladies  and  taken  counsel  o?  t  ,     ^ 

pany  a,  fi„t,  bu.  heavy  dinner-panie,  were   „Ô,  f         .T 
regarded  in  Baymouth  :  and  when  uT  w   ^       ?.  favorably 

mo«  feverish  flutter  tha,,  Frank  D^t^    *  "  "^  '"  * 

mor=,  of  course,  and  see  tee  deep  dusk  '  v"  H  h^'  '  °"" 
-i.  was  of  her  he  thoughT  'as  hé  dres^d  '  h!  ""T  ''"" 
studs,  and  neck-ties,  and  gU^WWore  .?'   f  '  ""^ 

finish.,  a^  LTld  1^J^""T,.  ""'"  "^"«•»-    B"»  h» 
«mark^g  casuaUy  tha.  he  «ay  be  la.e,  «  St,  S 


l*v^ 


Aft^. 


SE  OSL/i 


CE. 


H7 


»ide  of  vitupération  to  be  poured  into  a  brother  editoByin 
next  Biorning's  édition,  but  will  endeavor  for  Frank's  sake  to 
slaughter  the  enemy  in  as  brief  a  spate  as  possible.  Nine 
cornes,  and  there  is  no  Longwortli.  A  quarter  past,  and 
Mrs.  Totty  Sheldon,  dazzling  in  the  saliiion  pink  and  pearl 
necklape— an  old  gage  daihour  of  Longworth's,  by  the  way 
— her  large,  beautiful  arnis,  and  plump  polished  shoulders 
•parkling^in  the  gas  light,  sails  in.  ^ 

"  Will  I  do,  Frank  ?     Do  you  like  my  (#ess  ?     Are  you 
cohiing?"  P» 

"  Ci^n't,  unfortunately,  y^t  awhile— wai'ting  for  Longworth. 
Imposable  for  me  to  go  without  him,  you  know.    Your  dress  is 
ravishing,  Totty— you  are  bound  to  be  thtTbeauty  of  the  bail. 
"  No  hope  of  that,  I  fear.     You  forget  Larry's  description 
of  Miss  Landefile.     Only  I  wonder  if  he  ineant  it.     Well, 
au  revoir  for  theJiîresent." 
She  gathers  up  Her  rich  train,  and  tâlTes  his  arm  to  the  cab 
I  waiting  at  the  door.     Mainma  in  a  golden  brown  silk  that  has 
^seen  some  service,  fbUows,  and  théy  drive  oflC     Frank  paces 
:;up  and  down  the  stoop,  growling  inaudible  anathemas  upon 
Longivorth    lingering  »'over  his  imbécile    newspaper  para- 
grapbs:r-for  nd  other  reason,  Frank  is  convinced,  than  to  ex- 
asperàte  him  into  a  brain  fevcr.     But  ail  things  end^  and  pres- 
ently  the  laggard  cornés,  the  red  tip  çjf  his  cigar  announcing 
his  approach.  afar  off,  with  his  uâual  leisurçly  and  deliberate 
step.     No  human  being  can  recall  the  phenomenon  of  seeing 
the  edîtor  of  the  Phénix  in  a  hurry. 

«  Dressed,  my  Baby  ?  "  he  says,  springing-iip  the  steps  : 
"hope  J  haven't  kept  you  waiting,  dear  boy."  > 

^  «Bift  you  hâve  kept  njé  waiting,"  growls  Frank^  «per- 
h^aps  you  don't  happen  to  know  it  is  ten  niirfutes^cÉ  ten. 
What  poor  devil  of  an  editor  were  you  pitching  into  to-nlpt  ? 
:Ue  appeors  to  KaVe  ti^kett  «ijrear^rarôf «kiffing.  You  must- 
have  been  enjoying  youfielf  abusihg  somebody,  or  yon  nevei 
would  hâve  scribbled  until  this  tirae  of  night,'; 


;■'>■!<? 


"^D 


.«&.," 


\/ 


^ 


V\ 


.>*, 


u 


t^. 


# 


k. 


Ii8 


J0iO9XJSSS£  OBLIGE. 


Longworth  does  not  wait  for  thèse  reproaches — he  nins  up 
to  his  room,  and  sets  about  his  toilet  with  celerity  and  dis- 
patch. Il 

"Awful  nonsensé,"  he  says,  as  Dextej,  still  rather  huffy, 
follows,  "obljging  a  inan,  be(;ause  you  ask  him  out  to  enjqy 
himself,  to  undergo  the  torture  of  putting  himsetf  insillî 
a  sable-tail  coat,  and  nether  garments  first.  This  gr%y  suit 
is  new,  and  neat,  well-fitting,  and  comfortable  ;  but  it  would 
be  a  deadly  sin  against  the  ordinances  of  society  to-  go  in  it 
to  Mrs.  Windsor's  to-night.  I  am-a  wiser,  happier,  and  betler 
man  in  it  than  I  am  in  the  régulation  white  tie  and  swallow* 
tail."'.       ,V'       •         ,     ■     '        ■ 

But  wh'en  the  white  tie  is  tied,  and  the  swallow-tail  on, 
Dexter  has  his  doubts^out  it.  Certainly  Longworth  looks 
well,  as  niost  tall,  fai^pin  do,  in  full  evening  dress — no  dé- 
tail wahting,  even  tq  the  tiny  bouquet  for  the  button-hoîe,  one 
tuberose  and  a  sprig  pf  héUotrope. 

"He  isn't  half  a  bad-looking  fellow  when  he  likes,"  Frank 

thinks,  inoodily.     'î  I  suppose  that  is  why  the  women  ail  like 

him.  •  For  lots  of  women  like  him  and  always  h^ve  ;   and  I 

suppose,  as  Beckwith  suggests,  he'U  go  in  for  M^.  Windsor's 

.    ^%f  '        hiîiress,  and  win  her  too." 

Thè  thought  is  depressiiig,  and  în  glooi 
sets  out  by  his  side  ^t^t.  But  Longw 
talk,  for  a  wonder,  and^es  talk,  althou] 
iplies  are  sulky  monosyllables.  A  sèn 
injury  weighs  upon  this  young  gentlertian— a  sensé  he  would 
bave  foùnd  it  difficult  to  explain,  as  if  Longworth's  undeni-. 
le.^ood  looks  and  unexceptionM^^et-up  were  matters  of 
^***  **-^nal  virrong  and  insult;-^  ^  v"     , 

•eem  agifle  depressed  fthd^owtspirited,  toniglit,  dear 

t  yo^lpp*  «Uggests  Mr.  Longworth,  chcerfully,  "as 

,     i-Jiiad anaeeret  soffow  preytitg  ii^H  you.  "Or  perhaïâ" 

11*3  biLe---it  smick  me  you  were  looking  yeiîdtr  at  dinner. 

Or,  peihaps  ifs  a  presentiment  of  coming  evil^tfae  Bort 


silence  Frank 
liined  to 
;r's  rc 
'onf'personal 


i—  •'"■   M^t* 


.'''W-^T-WX" 


t 


'07' 


V  ■ 


y 


NOBLÀSSS  OBLtGM. 


119 


'»l|?  P*wie  hâve  îh'books,  i»*en  the  lady  flf  their  k^vc  ii 

"»  elpt^  with  another  fcllo^lf  it  U  a  presentiment, 

y  ^mST»  »t  »  W.yet  too  late.     Yond^r,  is  Mrs.  Windsqr'»-- 

bul  the  wordw  and  iwross  thaï  fataHhreshold  you  shall 
'er  pass."  \      ^  *  \ 

^,  "  Bosh  !  "  returns^r.  Dexter,  ôfth  suppr^d  savagery  ; 
,*•  for  a  nian  most  pçopk  seem  to  thiftk  sensible^ypu  can  talk 
more  horrid  nonsense  thai^any  fellow  klive.  I  sup^ïroe  I  may 
hâve  my  silent  fits  too,  althôugh  I  am  not  the  editor  dîa  iwo^ 
penny  newspaper.  ^^[ew,  fS^^rfeaven's  sake,'  don't  lét  uf 
hâve  any  more  of  youj^chafT,  foKhere  we  are."  V 

Hère  they  were  certainly.     Evi^  window  aglow,  its  \o^ 
gray  front  ail  alighti  m^ny  carriages  in  a  fine  before  the  gâte, 
pfeals  of  dance  mùsic  coming  through  the  oj)ert  dooi^  the 
grim  Stohe  House  may  wonder  if  "  1  be\|  ''  to-nighr.     They 
enter  a  little  room  jvhere  other  men  are  as^mbled,  and  do  W^ 
thèse  ftien  are  doing-^ve  hair,  and  tie,  andVest,  and  gtoves 
one,l^  adjustment,  rive  mustaches  one  lasMovirig  twirl, 
then  pass  out  and  on  to^e  drawing-room,  where  Mrt.  Wind-. 
8or  k  Teceiving  hcr  friends. 

"Courage,  my  Frank,"  says  Mr.  Longworth  ;  «we  will 
only  sée  grandmamma  this  first  heat.  The  bal^room,  where 
the  Demoiselles  Landelle,  it  is  to  be  presunp<^,  à^tripping 
j0ié  light  fantastic  toe,  is  farther  on.  In  poor  jÔeorge  Wind- 
sor»?  limp  it  yas  a  bUliard  room,  but  tables  ind  balls  weht 
long  ago,  and  the  floor  is  waxed,^and  the  heir  of  ail  this  is* 
food  for  fishes.  Sb  the  glory  of  the  world  passes  away— 
corne  on.**  1  \  /  ,         , 

«Upon  my  woï^you  are  a.cBeerful  spîrit,  Longw^h,*» 
says  Frank,  in  disgust  '^Wait  one  moni^snt  I  say,  who  i. 
tliatbesideher?"    ,  ^  ^  t 

"Tes,  my  Bab^,  pause  and  look.     Many  nioons  may  wa» 

[There  she  stan 
téUe  Marie  Landelli 


img  èlse  bnê^fi^f  so  lovely. 
^ueen,  %,  aad  rose  in  one— Mademoi* 


-r-'— 


^ 


r 


V 


•^T-^'- 


à* 


<ib 


I20 


N^IESSE  OBLIGE, 


>  In  a  lai^e  chair  ICrs.  Windsor  is  seated,  beautifully  and 
perfectly  dressed,  more  uplifted,  m<we  majestic,  more  awful, 
it  seems  to  Frank,  than  ever  before.  A  little  group  sur- 
rounds her,  a  tall  young  lady  stands  by  her  side.  At  this 
young^lady  he  looks,  and  with  that  first  look  forgets  thereis 
another  hunian  being  in  the  house,  in  the  world.  He  stands 
and  gazes,  and  falls  there  and  then  abruptly,  and  hopelessly, 
and  helplessly,  and  irretrievably  in  love  on  the  sp0t. 

"Oh,  heavens  !  "  he  isays  bçlow  his  breath,"what  a  perfect- 
ly dazzling  béauty  I  " 

"  Ah  !  "  says  Longworth.  •'  I  told  you  so.  I  see  she  has 
knocked  ydri'  over  ;  but  restrain  yourself,  my  Baby.  Calm 
that  frenzied  fire  I  see  in  your  eye,  and  coniie  and  be  intro- 
duced.  Be  brave  and  fear  not  ;  if  you  ask  her  prettily,  I 
dare  say  she'U  even  dance  with  you." 

He  movés  on,  and  Frank  follows,  but  in  a  dazed  way. 
He  is  vaguely  cônscious  that  the  tall  young  beauty  is  dress- 
ed in  floating,  gauzy,  trànslucent  white,  ail  puflFs  and  bunch- 
es,"  and  trtuling  yards  behind  her.  '  He  sees,  as  in  a  dream, 
tiny  clusters  ôf  violets  ail  over  it,  a  large  cluster  on  her 
breast,  a  bouquet  of  white  roses  and  violets  in  her  hand,  and 
stiU  another  knot  in  her  hair.  He  has  never  seen  such  hair  ; 
it  falls  in  a  rippling  shower,  in  a  crinkling  sunburst  to  her 
tlim  waist,  and  yet  it  is  banded,  and  braided,  and.twisted  in 
â  wondrous  combination- on  her  head,  at  the  same  time. 
What  a  lot  of  it  she  nmst  hâve,  Dexter  thinks,  still  dazed  ;  aod 
what  a  stunning  cblor  1  and  were  ever  any  of  the  fair  dead 
women  of  long  ago,  for  whom  worlds  were  lost,  and  conquer- 
ors  went  mad,  and  heroes  gave  up  honor  and  life,  onehalf 
so  lovely  ? 

AU  this  time  tl^y  are  ^owly  approaching  "  the  présence," 
and,  in  a  dreàmy  way,  Frank  is  cônscious  that  Longworth  is 


"  I  knew  it  would  be  a  floorer,"  that  gentleman  is  remark- 
ing  ;  "  but  nof.  such  a  floorer  i,$&  this.     She's  uncommonljr 


*Tï.-»»  Jpj'i 


*Sié 


beautifiilly  and 


trOBLESSÉ  OBLIGE    .  121 

pfetty,  there  can  be  no  doubt— looks  like  the  '  Blessed  Da- 
roozel,'  or  as  Andersen's  'Little  Sea-Maid'  must,  when  she 
got  nd  of  her  fish-tail  and  danced  before  the?  prince.  Still 
allowing  for  aU  that,  your  attack  is  awfuUy  sudden.  Try  and 
get  nd  of  that  sleep-walking  look,  Baby,  or,  when  you  are 
presented,  Miss  LandeUe  may  be  pardoned  for  thinking  I 
have4n  charge  an  able-bodied  young  lunatic." 

Frank  is  conscious  that  his  admiration  is  perha^s  a  triflo 
too  patent,  and  pulls  his  wits  together  by  an  effort.  They 
we  in"  the  présence  "  no«r,  and  Mrs.  Windsor  has  always  had 

the  refreshmg  effect  of  an  iced  shower-bath  upon  Mr.  Dexter-s 
nerves.     She  pauses  in  her  conversation,  and  theold  pleased 
1  and  softened  hght  cornes  into  her  cold,  turquoise-blue  eyes 

"You  are  late,"  she  says, 'graciously  ;  "I  hâve  beetf 
watching  for  you.     Thât.  tîresome  office,  I  suppose  ?  " 

Mr.  Longworth  apologizes.     Yes,  it  is  the  office.     He 
bows  to  Mlle.  Marie,  who  greets  hini  with  a  bewitching  smile. 
[and  draws  forward  Frank.-. 

l  J*  y°"  :^'»^"'^.«»"  ™y  y^  kinsman,  Frank  Dexter.  Mrs. 
Wîndsor?    He  is  visiting  Baymouth,  and  presuming  upon   ' 
lyour  old  fnendship  for  him,  I  hâve  taken  the  liberty  of  bring. 
Jing  him  to-night."  '  «^ 

Mrs.  Windsor*s  welcome  is  dignified  cordiality  itself.  Yes. 
she  remembers  MrJ  Frank  veiy  well.  ^ny  friend  Mr.  Long, 
worth  may  bnng  is  welcome  for  Mr.  Longworth's  sake,  but 
(Mr.  I-rank  is  welcome  for  his  own.     Thcn  she  tums  to  the         * 

lUiant  young  beauty  at  her  elbow  and  says  :  «  My  grand- 
Idaughter,  Miss  LandeUe.  Mr.  Dexter."  /  »      " 

"Mr.  Dexter  and  I  are  very  old' acquaintanccs,  grand- 
.amma,    says  M«s  LandeUe,  smiling  ;«  or  at  least  frc  came        '     A 
«arbeing.     We  crossed  in  the  same  steamer." 
"Indeed."  w  } 

"«And^iref  «ira  Kcme  know  each  other  like  old  friends     1     ~      " 
kept  my  berth  ail  the  way,  and  knew  nobody.     She  Wîll  be 
i^eiy  pleased  to  meet  you  again,  Mr.  Dextw.'?  t 


/a 


4' 


"smm. 


BÏST"''"  T- 


122 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


Fraiik  munmirs  somethiil^ — the  pleasure  is  his — aw— i 
hope^  Mademoiselle  Reine  is  quite  well — um — trusts  Miss 
Landelle  has  quite  got  over  her  mal-de-mer.  fie  is  not 
usùally  at  a  loss  in  young  ladies'  society  ;  his  woras  generally 
flow  freely  and  fluently  enough,  but  he  is  so  visibly  embar- 
rasscd  stammering  out  this  that  Longworth  coin^assionately 
cornes  to  the  rescue. 

"Where  is    Mademoiselle    Reine?      In   the  ball-roomf 
dancing,  I  suppose.     You  hâve  not  forgotten,  I  hope,^|8S  '| 
Landelle,  that  you  yesterday  promised  me  the  first  waltz?  '*"  - 

*<  Mr.  Lpngworth,  I  wonder  you  hâve  the  audacity  to  speak 
of  it    The  first  waltz,  sir,  is  over." 

"And  I  corne  late.  Ah  t  unfortunate  tbat  I  am,  tied  to 
the  tread-mill  of  business  and  unable  to  break  away.  But 
surely  there  is  a  second — is  not  that  a  waltz  they  are  begin- 
ning  now.     Pardon  the  past,  and  give  me  the  second." 

*•  Shall  I,  grandraamma  ?  "  she  says,  smiling.  •*  Can  you 
spare  me  ?  " 

"  Certainly,  child.  I  hâve  no  intention  of  detaining  you 
hère  ail  evening.    Go  and  waltz,  by  ail  means." 

"Come  on,  Frank,"  says  Longworth,  over  his  shoulder, 
as  he  bears  off  his  radiant  vision,  "  and  say  how  do  yo^  do 
to  Mademoiselle  Reine."  T  J 

Frank  follows.  Up  to  the  présent,  Longworth  hîi^  rathar- 
been  one  of  his  ideals — up  to*o-night  he  has  been  riiore  oi 
less  "wrapped  in  the  sweet  and  sudden  passion  of  youth 
toward  greatnessin  its  elders  ;  "  but  at  this  moment  deadly 
émotions  of  rage,  hatred,  and  revenge  are  stirring  in  liis 
bosoro.  Yes,  there  can  be  no  doubt  of  w — it  is  patent  to  the 
duUest  observer,  Longworth  will  win  «ind  wear  this  daughter^ 
pf  the  gods,  this  queen  rose  of  girlhood,  this  one  of  ail  the 
woinen  of  earth,  he,  Frank  feels,  that  Fate  has  created  for 


'    ^i|t,  io  th(B  ball-room)-  flooded  wilh  gas-light,  fîHed  with 
music,  biriUiftnt  with  bèauteous  ladies,  thèse  dark  and  direful 


^„  >  ^ 


"-*!- 


'  ^  ',     i*-^^3S^     ■) 


.(■^ 


'."'1''   iîSÎ' 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


123 


audacity  to  speak 


hoîw  do  yoy  do 


inusîngs  pass.  Mr.  Dexter  has  falîen  in  love,  suddenly  it 
may  be,  but  desperately,  and  gloom„and  jealousy,  and  despair 
—Love' s  pleasant  handraaidens— are  gnawing  already  at  hi« 
vitals.  At  the  same  time  he  is  only  three-and-twenty,  is  in  a 
State  of  perfectly  splendid  vitality,  is  a  tolerable  dancer  and 
immoderately  fond  of  dancing,  and  the  light  retums  to  his  eye, 
a  thrill  io  his  puise,  and  he  Içoks  about  him  for  a  partner. 

«  Monsieur  Frank  f"  says  a  voicel     "  Oh,  it  is— Monsieur 
Frank?» 

He  tums  and  sëès  à  fairy  in  rosç  silk,  rose  and  black,  an 
artistic  conibination,  roses  in  herdarkhair,  roses  in  her  hand, 
a  perfume  of  roses  ail  about  her,  and  with-  eyes  like  brown 
^  diamonds.  ^ 

"  Mademoiselle  Reine." 

She  gives  him  her  hand  and  smiles  jip  in  his  eyes.  He  has 
'thought  often  before— he  thinks  it  again  now—what  a  beauti- 
[  fui,  sunny  smile  she  has  I      < 

"  Hâve  you  seen  Marie  and  been  introducied  ?  Byt  of 
course  you  hâve.  Did  I  not  tell  you  that  night  on  the  ship 
that  we  woqld  meet  again  ?  Mees  Hariott  underkood,  she 
[tells  me,  but  you  did  not"  / 

"You  were  terribly  siJent  tnd  raysterious,  mademoiselle, 
[and  i  never  was  a  good  one  at  mysteries.  Are  you  engaged 
jfor  this  waltz,  Mademoiselle  Reine  ?  " 

»  Monsieur,  I  never  waltz— it  is  against  my  convictions  ;  but 
Ithe  next  is  4  quadrille,  and  I  kept  it  for  you— I  knew  you 
Iwrere  coming— 1  knew  you  would  ask  nre.  Among  ail  thèse 
■strangers,  not  one  of  wh&m  except  Mees  Hariott  and  M. 
'.ongworth  I  hâve  ever  seen  before,  you  seera  altogether  like 
n  old  friend."  y  -    .  ,~ 

«Thank  yoû,  maâemoiselle,"  he  responds,  with  émotion, 
n  his  pr<^ent  blighted  state  it  is  something  to  hear  word. 
kkc^^^OTTtaf  Tips  er  Her  sister.     Ah  I  if  She  Would  but"" 
»pe^  thera.     «  I  ask  nothing  better  of  fatc  tban  being  m« 
Iwhole  life  long  y6ur  friend,"  he  says  aloud.     -^    , 


0- 


-W. 


124 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


'  Mlle.  Reine  opens  her  brown  eyes  for  a  second  ràther  sur- 
prised.  He  does  not  see  it  ;  his  are  foliowing  Longworth  ancl 
a  certain  gaiizy  figure  that  seems  to  float  in  a  white  cloud| 
g}'rating  round  and  round.  ■«>.     ' 

"  How  beautiful  your  sister  is,"  he  is#i  tlie  point  pf  saj 
ing,  but  he  bites  his  lips  and  stops.  "  Your  sister  <)tôeà  not  r^ 
semble  you  at  ail,  '  is'what  he  does  say. 

"  Oh,  no  ;  she  is  a  thousand  times  prettier.  How  wJl 
Monsieur  Longworth  waltzes  ;  one  so  seldom  meets  with  fa 
gentleman  who  can  waltz  really  well."     ' 

"  I.ongwtq^th  is  a  sort  of  Admirable  Crichton,  I  find — whlit 

is  there  he  does  not  do  well  !  "  retorts  Frank,  with  bitternels, 

-for  with  every  praise  of^hjS  rival  the  iron  gpes  deeper  apd 

deeper  into  his  soûl.     "  i\resume  he  and  Mlle.  Marie  are 

friends  for  life  already  ?" 

"  I  don't  know  what  you  mean  by  friends  for  life,"  siys 
Reine  ;  "  they  are  friendly  enough  for  two  people  who  hî|ve 
only  known  each  other  one  short  week." 

"  But  there  are  some  frièndships  that  do  not  require  tiqie, 
but  spring  up  fuU-grown  in  an  hour  I  " 

"Reaily!"  thinks  Mlle.  Reine,  "this  is  very  odd.  Has 
Monsieur  Frank  been  dinihg  late,  I  wonder?" 

They  join  the  dancers  as  she  thinks  it.  As  a  dancer  Fr 
does  not  shine  ;  even  as  a  dancer  of  square  dances,  his  féet 
are  in  the  way,  î^nd  so  is  his  partner's  train.  Mlle.  Reine  pf 
course  fioats  about  like  a  Frenchwoman,  and  prevents  haii 
from  upsetting  himself  ând  her.  Longworth  meandering  b| 
still  with  the  beauty  of  the  night,  nods  encouragingly  in  pas! 
ing,  and  She  laughs.  The  laugh  is  at  his  awkward  plunge 
Mr.  Dexter  feels,  and  is  the  last  drop  of  bitterness  in  his  aï 
rcady  brimraing  cup,  Mrs.  Sheldon,  in  ,^e  nexjt  set,  goe 
by,  aad  darts  an  angry  glance  at  his  rose-silk  partner — the 
rose-pink  and  saînnôn-pînk  are  sweàfing^at  each  othèr  horri- 
bly,  the  rose  nat«fally  having  the  best  of  it.  It  is  évident  she 
«nd  Frank  can  sytiipathize  on  other  grounds,  for  the  look 


&  ,, 


i 


i"  ^i.'^'j(C:-ti'  ,^'^ii  w''^w||jHBa,>î  ^-tte.jjA»-' 


not  require  tulie, 


'?'--^    ■W*î    «nhè  •''^h^W- 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE.  125 

she  casts  after  Miss  Landelle  is  almos^  as  gloomy  as  Frank's 
OHm.  \ 

The  hours  of  the  night,  set  to  niuL,  swoet  with  flowers, 
bnght  with  illumination^  ai^^anced  Uay.     Outside,  under 
the  stars  and  the  trees,  beyond  the/iron  railing,  groups  c/ 
factory  hands  linger,  and  look,  and/listen;  but  as  midn^Kht 
approaches  they  Ait  away,  and  solitiide  wraps  the  dark  and 
lonely  street.     Through  it  ail  Frank  sees,  and  Mi^Sheldon 
sees,  and^Miss  Hariott  sees,  and  Mrs.  Windsor,  slo*r  to  sec 
but  seeing  at  last,  that  Mr.  Longworth  is  devoting  ifimself  tô 
Mlle.  Mane  as  no  one  remembers  ever  to  hâve  seeti  him  de- 
vote  hiniself  to  any  young  lady  before.     Yes,  Mrsj  Sheldon 
remembers  once-so  long  ago  it  seems—when  hfe   looked 
upon,  and  hstened  to  her,  as  he  is  looking  and  listçning  to- 

"Is  he  falling  in  love?"  Miss  Hariott  wondeii  as  she 
watches.  "  Well-why  not  ?  She  is  «ronderfuUy  prètty.  too 
Rretty  almost.  She  will  be  very  rîèh-^it  wiU  please  Mrs. 
Wmdsor-it  is  time  he  married,  and  she  looks  gentle  and 
sweet     Why  not  ?  »  ,  ^ 

Thereseemedno«whynotl"  '«  Only  I  wish  it  were  the 
other  one,"  adds  Miss  Hariott,  inconsequently,  as  Reine- 
cornes  up  to  her,  "she  is  dearer  and  sweeter,  and  bettfer  by 

_^t^  Miss  Hariott  hks  no  i*ason  for  judging  thus,  a^nd  so 
has  to  confess.  Of  the  elder  sister  she  knows  nothing,  ex- 
çept  that  beauty  so  rare  and  great  rather  préjudices  herH».  ^ 

Mavorably  than  otherwise.  "«r-un 

.nd  ^îfiV'*^^^"''^*  '°  ^'  ^"^■*^^"«  ^^^  *«d  shallow, 
and-selfish  andvam,"  so  iUogically  and  rather  uncharitablV 

muTl  1  >'»|;"l«velady.  "Men  fancy  a  beautiful  souî; 
must  go  wuh  a  beautiful  face  of  necessity.     I  wich  it  weré 

ike  the  glitter.'?      V 


nfie  gold  anT 
Once  before  stip^r  Reiïie  k?ep«  the  \t^  ,„a.le  on 


7 


%: 


^ 


•  «t. 


■  ,1 


126 


NVBLESSE 


t 

• 

OBLIGE. 

S  . 

shipboard,  and  sings  for  Miss  Hariott.  Çut  as  the  rich,  full, 
sHvery  cojitralto  fiUs  the  long  drawing-room,  others  flock  in, 
Sïirprised'and  eager.  '  Miss  Hariott  is  perhaps  the  most  sur- 
prised  of*all — she  can  appreciate  the  beauty,  and  compas», 
and  power  of  that  deep,  strong,  sweet  voice.  - 

"  My  dear,"  she  says  in  her  amazement  "  whj  would  hâve 
deemèd  you  côuld  sing  like  tliîs  ?    Of  course  I  knew  from 
your  face  you  could  sing,  but  who  was  to  tell  me  we  had 
,  '  caged  a  nightingale  ?     A  finer  contralto  I  nevèr  heard." 
The  girl  glahced  up,  a  flash  of  pleasure  in  her  eyes. 
V  Yes,  1  can  sing  ;  it  is  my  one  gift — more  precious  to  me 
than  anytlîiijg  else  in  the  world.     A«rft  Denise  had  the  very 
best  masters  for  mt,  and  I  sfudied  hard.     Not  for  drawing- 
room  perfoi// ance^jlike  this,  you  understand,  buf— for  the 
•  •     stage^"  ^  '     . . 

5  «  the  :if?f,e  !  «» 
,f  **  Yesi  'liât  was  the  aim  of  my  life,  the  operatic  or  lyric 

stag^."    n/"  course  ail  that  is  at  an  end — ^for  the  présenta* 
*'  BV  the  présent  ?  ** 

Reipe  lookship  again.     Sh©  sees  Mr.  Longworth  at  Miss 
Hariott's  side,  and  perhaps  it  is  for  his  benefit  that  swift,  dark 
.  flash  gleams  in  her  eyes. 

"For  the  présent.     One  day  orother  I  shall  realize  my. 
dreams  and  face  the  world  for  myself,  and  win  my  own  way. 
I  think  there  can  be  nothing  in  the  world  so  sweet  as  the 
bread  one  works  for  and  wins.     Hère  is  something  you.will 
like;  shall  I  sing  it?'"  #^*  '    • 

She  sings  again.     Surely  a  fine  voice  is  one  ôf  Heaven's 

best  gifts — di  gift  to.stir  the  heàrt  beyond  even  the  power  of 

beauty.     Th  »  loveliness  of  the  elder  sister  is  forgotten  for  the 

■  time  even  by  Frank  Dexter,  in  listening  to  the,  rich,  ringing 

fcweetness  of  the  little  dark  girl  who  sings.  , 

-      . jitippgr  cgmej.  _.MlL4gy9te4  Mfy^  L^^^^  takes  down 


the  daughter  of  the  hous^    Reine  goes  with  Frank.    And 
Madame  Winds<|)r,  matchless  in  her  easy  grâce  ts  hostess, 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


127 


sees,  and  a  light  slowly  dawns  upon  her— a  light  that  is 
pleasant  apd  altogether  new.  Laurence  Longworth  has  rc- 
jected  her  fortune,  but  as  the  husband  of  her  granddaughter 
even  his  fastidious  honor  may  take  it  and  be  satisfied.  It 
will  be  a  most  judicious  and  excellent  thing  if  he  marries 
Marie. 

The  girl  is  certainly  superbly  handsome  ;  even  upon  this 
cold  and  repellant  grandmother  that  face  workeé-its  way. 
Her  manners  are  what  a  young  girl's  manners  should  be— 
gentle,  and  yielding,  and  sweet  The  other  she  does  not 
like  ;  she  is  cold,  she  is  proud,  she  is  repellant,  she  takes  no 
pains  to  please.  If  young  Dexter,  who  will  be  very  rich,  by 
;  any  chance  should  fancy  her.'it  will  be  a  happy  release.  But 
for  Longworth  to  marry  Marie  is  the  very  bcst  thing  that  can 
possibly  happen. 

"And  if  I  tell  her  to  marry  him,  of  course  she  will;  her 

jmclination  need  hâve  nothing  to  do  with  the  matter,  even 

S  supposing  a  possible  lover  in  the  past.     And  a  girl  as  hand- 

:  some  as  that  is  not  likely  to  hâve  reached  the  âge  of  twenty    " 

i  without  lovers.     StiU,  having  been  brought  up  o?i  French 

pnnciples— convenient   thingâ   French,  principles— she  will 

take  her  husband  from  the  hand  of  her  guardian  when  she  is 

told,  and  make  no  demur.    Yes,  I  am  sincerely  glad  sheis 

[pretty  and  pleases  Laïu-ence." 

They  break  up  early  ;  by  three  o'clock  fhe  last  guest  is 
jgone.  It  has  been  a  very  bright  and  charming  little  reunion. 
IWhatever  Mrs.  Windsor  does  she  does  well.  She  has  pre, 
isented  her  granddaughters  to  Baymouth  society  in  a  manner 
«that  reflects  crédit  upon  her  and  them.  Miss  Hariott  kisses 
Heme  as  they  par<. 

*'Good-by,  Little  Queen."  she  says.      "  Corne  and  sec 
ae  to-morrow,  and  sing  foç  me  again.     You  sing  like  a 


Frank  and  longworth  go  as  they  came,  together.     Long.' 
rorth  is  m  excellent  spirits  stiU,  and  a  cluster  of  violets  h^ 

.  i.  '   '-  .' 


128 


NOBLESSE  OBLIGE. 


i'- 


taken  ^e  place  of  the  tuberose  in  his  button-hole,  violets 
that  an  hour  ago  nestled  in  Marie  Landelle's  glistening  hair. 

«What  thinkest  thou,  oh,  siletit  Baby,"  he  says,  "of  the 
girl  with  the  angel's  smile,  and  the  angel's  face,  and  the  head 
for  (ireuze  ?  Doth  yonder  moon,  most  gloomy  youth,  shine 
on  any thing  else  one-half  so  lovely  ?  "  ^^ 

"/Mrs.  Windsor's  Champagne  was  heady,  but  you  needn't 
hayfe  taken  quite  so  much  of  it/'  is  Frank's  cold  andsçorn- 
fu^  retort. 

/"Cynicj  And  the  imputation  is  unjust,  for  it  is  the 
Intoxication  of  peerless  beauty  and  grâce,  not  the  vintage  of 
la  veuve  OiqUot,  that  has  turned  my  brain.  Tell  me,  my 
Baby,  what  you  think  of  her,  and  don't  be  sardonic.  It 
pains  me  to  hear  a  little  thing  like  you  talk  in  that  growp-up 
way." 

"  You're  a  fool,  Longworth  1  "  says  Frank,  and  wrenches 
his  ann  free.  "And  as  she  hasn't  accepted  you  yet — for  1 
suppose  even  your  cheekiness  wasn't  equal  to  proposing 
to-night— I  wouldn't  be  quite  so  cock-a-hoop  about  it,  if  I 
were  you."  j 

Longworth  only  laughs.  He  can  afford  tq  laugh,  Dexter 
tbipkis,  bitterly. 

♦♦  Good-night,  Baby,"  he  says,  in  a  friendly  voice.  «Try 
and  get-rid  of  that  pain  in  youi*  temper  before  morning." 

Frank's  response  is  sulîen  and  brief.  He  goes  up  to  his 
room  and  tosses  for  hours  on  his  bed  with  the  serene  pink 
dawn  smiling  in  upon  him,  ahd  tbe  songs  of  a  hundred  little 
birds  sounding  in  the  trees. 

«  I  knew  I  would  fall  in  love  with  her,"  he  thinks  with  a 
groan  ;  "  but  if  I  had  known  Longworth  was  to  hâve  her  I 
would  never  hâve  set  foot  in  that  house.  I  mjide  a  joke  of 
it,  by  George,  but  it  will  be  tiç  joking  raatter  to  me  ail  the 
rest  of  my  life." 


(. 


»,    %.' 


«ÎV 


y- 


v-^; 


AFTER. 


139 


■■». 


CHAPTER  X. 


KtTEîfk. 


q  laugh,  Dexter 


IT  îs  the  middle  of  the  afternoon.  Miss  Hariott,  in 
garden  gloves  and  hat,  is  busy  among  her  rose* 
bushes  and  verbena-beds  and  héliotrope,  and  prun- 
in^  weeding,  tying  up.  It  is  the  day  after  the  party,  a  soft, 
palé^  sunless  day,  the  gray  sea  melting  into  the  fleecy  gold- 
gray  sky,  and  a  pale,  dira  haze  vailing  the  land.  Miss  Harrott 
hums  a  tune  to  herself  as  she  works,  when  the  click  of  the 
little  garden  gâte  reaches  her,  and  looking  up  she  sees  Miss 
Landelle  the  younger.  Miss  Hariptt  drops  basket  and  garden 
shears,  arid  approàches  to  greet  her  guest. 

"  My  dear  mademoiselle " 

"  My  name  is  Reine,"  interrupts  the  young  lady,  with  that 
brilliant  smile  of  hers. 

"And  Reine  is  queen.     Well,  you  looked  like  a  Little" 
Queen  last  night.    You  do  always.     1  shall  call  you  that." 

"Go  on  withyour  work,  madame,"  says  Reine,  dropping 
into  a  rustic  chair,  «  and  please  don't  flatter.  Complimenti 
and  daylight  never  go  well  together.  What  a  prçtty  garden 
■^-what  a  pretty  little  house  this  is." 

\  "A  doll's  house,  my  dear,  but  big  enough  for  one  old  - 
maidand  her  waiting-woman.     I  am  glad  you  hâve  found 
me  out,  Little  Queen;  I  was  thinking  of  you  as  you  c4m« 

^*  Thinking  what  ? '* 
Hariott 


^ 


smilftB  ftg  ffhe  draws  < 


sûmes  basket  and  scissors. 
<  I  am  afraid  it  would  hardiy  do  to  tell  you-juat  yet 


ij^  and  re? 


It 


I:' 


^w? 


■.  J 


130 


ÎFTER. 


k   / 


tnight  be  prématuré,",  she  answers,  snii!>ping  awav  indastri- 
ously,  "but  something  mealant  ail  the  sapie." 

She  has  been  thinkià|;of  her  friend,  Mr.  Longwprth,  and 

/Mrsi  Windsor*s  second  grânddaughter,' after  the  fa^hion  of 

4   niatch-making  women,  but  something  in  the  p^Ie^seriôus 

t|Jook  of  the  young  lady's  face  malces  her  realize  ttiat  the  as- 

/fociation  of  ideas  might  not  be  agreeable.  ■'%  ■ 

-     '  Miss  Hariott's  snipping  and  clipping  goes  ;pià|i&iademoi- 

•elle  sits  ind  looks  at  her,  hej  hat  in  her  lap,.^ith  tited, 

Bomber  eyes.  -^      /    -  >      *  " 

"Little  Queen,"  Miss  Hariott  says,  suddenly  pausing  in 
her  work,  ""^lowr  pale  you  arp,  howr  weary  you  look.  What 
isit?"  ^         ,    . 

'*  Am  I  pale  ?.  But  that  is  nothii^  I  never  hâve  color. 
And  I  suppose  I  am  tired  after  last  ïiight.^  I  ai»  nol  used  to 
dissipation  and  latehours.''/    * 

"Three  o'clock  is  not  sci  very  late."  - 

"  It  is  for  me.  I  hâve /been  brought  up  like  a  nita.  Ex- 
cept  when  Aunt  Denise  t<;iok  me  two-or  three  times  to  Eng- 
land,  to  visit  papa,  I  har4ly  ever  spent  an  evening  out.  At 
home,  my  music  and  myjother  studies,  little  birthday^tes, 
and  trips  away  with  lay  ajint,  fiUed  ail  the  hours.  ^  I  sup- 
pose very  mild  dissipatioiji  like  that  of  last  night  tells." 
"    "  How  is  your  sister  t(^-day  ?     Does  she  bear  it  better  ?  " 

"  Much  better  ;  but  MJarie  is  used  to  it.  She  knew  many 
p^ople,  very  greajt  peoi|)le  too,  in  London,"  Reine  says, 
vnûi  a  touch  of  sisterly  pride,  "  and  went  out  a  great  deaL 
Marie  makes  friends,  go  where  she  will." 

"Wrth  that  lovely  face  of  hers,  to  make  friends  must  in- 
/^ed  be  easy."  ^  * 

"  You  think  her  lovely,  madame  ?" 

*^  Can  there  be  any  two  opinions  on  that  subject,  my 
dear  ?  I  think  it  is  the  most  beautiful  face  I  ever  saw  out  of 
ft  natue.^ 


MAdemaiselle  smiled,  and  her  dajk  eyes,  not  as  briliianl 


'V  "• 


X 


riends  must  in- 


lot  as  brilliani 


'.     » 


/ 


AFTEie. 


I; 


131 

as  usual  th:»  afternbon,  light.  Praise  0/  her  sister  is  evi- 
dently  the  short-cut  to  Reine  tandelle's'heart.  No  touch 
of  envy  for  that  superior  loveliness,  it  is  quite  évident,  min- 
gles  with  the  boundless  admiration  she  feels  for  that  elder 
sister.  :?    , 

"  I  think  the  angels  mu«  look  Jike  Marie,"  she  says,  'quite 
simply,  "with  golden  hair  and  yellow-brown  eyes,  as  old 
Italian  artists  paint  the  Madonna.  Mees  Hariott;liow  happy 
you  oughV  to  be  ail  by  yourself  in  this  pretty  little  house." 

"  Ought  I  ?    Most  people's  idea  of  happiness  dpes  pot 
consist  in  being  ail  by  themselves  in  any  kind  of  house. 
But  .you  are  right,  petite  Reine.    I  ara  happy.     My  lifç  has 
had  itàsdrawbacks,  many  and  great,  but  jt  has  had  its  bless-  . 
ings,  mahy  and  great  also." 

"The  friendship  of  Monsieur  Longworth  chief  énong 
them,  I  suppose?"  says  mademoiselle,  with  a  speaking 
tfhrug, 

"The  friendship  of  Mr.  Longworth  chief  amoHg  them,  my 
dear.     YoU  don't  like  Mr.  Longworth." 

"I  know  nothing  about  him,"  says  Reine,'  a  touch  of 
scorn  in  her  tone,  "only  that  yqu  ail— ail  you  ladies— seem 
to  pet  him,  and  do  him  hônor,  arid  consult  him,  and  obey 
him.  He  is  a  very  great  personage  in  this  little  town,  is  he 
not  ?  Not  to  know  Monsieur  Longworth  is  to  argue  oné's 
self  unknown." 

"  A  very  great  personage'?"  repeats  Miss  Han'ott.  "  Well, 
that  dépends  upon  your  définition  of  greatness.  He  is  a 
clever  man,  a  sensible  man,  a  ^^^  man.  If  thèse  qualities 
constitute  greatness,  then  heis  great." 

*:  How  is  he  clever  ?    What  does  he  do  ?  "  '  . 

"  Oh  I  innumerable  things.  He  has  writtcn  poetr)',"  says 
Miss  Hariott,  with  a  repressed  smile;  "he  has  written  a 
novel  And  both  bave  been  hnpeless  faihires,  my  dear.  Ho 
delivers  most  éloquent  lectures  on  occasion  ;  he  b  editw-and 
propnetor  of  the  principal,  journal  of  Baymouth,  andûnally. 


S 


i.' 


*'*l''J 


y 


f   ■  ' 

t32,      ;  .  aPter. 


\ 


) 


ly 


-\ 


he  is,  and  will  continue  to  be,  one  of  the  rising  men  of  the 
âge."  ^:.  \  ^' 

.  "  A  triumphânt  knight  of  the  goose^quill,  in' short,  in  the 
bloôdless  realms  of  pén  and  ink,  without  fear  and  without 
reproach  !  "  .    , 

"  Madera<^selle  Reine,  why  do  you  dislike   Mr.  Long- 
worth?"       I  .    *  • 

"Mees  Hariott,  why  do  you  like  him  ?  None  of  thèse 
things  are  any  l-eason  why.  I  think  he  is  a  meddler  aùd  a 
busybody4-I  think  he  is  consulted  by  people  old  enough  -to 
know  theirt,  pwn  rainds,  and  I  think  he  impertinently  sits  and 
gives  advic^e  with  a  Jove-Hve  Joftiness  from  which  there  is 
no  appeal.  |  I  havo  j-ead  Dickens,  madame,  and  I  think  your 
learned  and  literary  friehd  has  molded  himself  updn  Mon- 
sieur PeckâniflF.  Can  you  tell  why  Madame  Windsor  thinks 
him  first  and  best  of  ail  the^en  in  the  world  ?  " 

Miss  ►Hariott  suspends  work  and  looks  at  her.  Some  one 
else  stands  still  and  looks,  and  listens  too,  an  auditor  unsëen 
and  unbargained  for.  It  is  Longworth.  Finding  the  garden- 
gate  ajar  as  Reine  lefl  it^  he  enters  and  comes  close  upoh 
them,  unseen  ^nd  unheard.  If  ever  the  temptation  to  play 
eavesdroppér  was  strçng  enough  to  excusé  thç  deed,  it  is 
surely  strong  enough  hère.  "  Let  me  see  myseif  as  others 
see  me  for  once,"  he  tliinks,  and  cooUy  stands  still  and  waits 
for  Miss  Haiiott's  réply. 

*•  Why  ?  "  cries  Reine  Landèllè  ;  *•  fell  me,  if  you  can/why 
she,  so  haughty,  sp  scornfnl,  so  imperious,  should  bow  to  his 
fiats  as  though  he  were  a  god  ?"  >  ' 

«*Ahl  that  isit,"  Miss  Hariott  says  to  hferself.  She  has 
ceased  work  altogether,  and  stands  listening  to  this  sudden 
outbréak  in  amaze.  "  My  dear  child,  do  you  not  know  ? 
Hâve  you  never  heard  the  name  of  George  Windsor  ?  " 

"  Often.     He  was  mamma's  brother,  and  was  drowned.    I 


■inrii  heiad  iibtlïeen,  with  âll  ifly  hcàJt.*' 
«Why?" 


^;ii¥«  /-<  ^  '^i* 


"T"?'p  "X*^     %  ;p 


inig  men  of  the 


<-■ 


■)     * 


'Si- 


AfTER. 


But  what  of 


*  Becausc  then  we  wopld  never  be  hère 
hini?"  . 

"  Long^orth  is  very  like  him.,  It  is  only  a  chance  resem. 
blance  but  it  is  rcaUy  vei^r  stiiklîTg.  And  for  her  dead  son', 
^e  Mrs^  Windsor  is  foncgif  Longworth.'  My  dear,  your 
grandmother  iriay  seem  a  m^  hard  and  cold  to  you,  a  little 
too  tender  to  this  man,  but  when  you  think  of  the  wason  you 
must  pity^Aer."  -  ^ 

"  I  do  not  know  that  I  do.  When  he/  son  was  taken  her 
daughter  was  left.  Does#,;pot  strike  you  ^hat  she,  »ot  this 
st^^th  the^chanc^^biançe.  should  hâve  b^en  the 

thb^*^i""'  '''"  ™'''  '°°''  «*«*«""  "d  wœng  of 

aame.      The  g,rt  sits  erect,  passionate  anger  in  her  voice 
H-nate  fire  ,«  h^  eye.     "  y„u  see  u,  hL.  r.y  ^,^^ 
\tlT>    V     ''T  """'^.  "«•»'«  Windsor  .ver  asked  us  to 
?„T         Z  ,"°",  '^""-     ^°"  ''"<»'  "•"'  ^  "«  'o  n,» 
l\J«  !h~1t  ■'  T  "■  "»'»<>*"'/.  unforgiving  lo  the  last 
p«,  she  hkely  then,  to  relent  to  my  fathet-s  daughter.?    I 
l-ayyou  lcnowJ>etier.     W.  came  unasked;  we  for«d  om- 
elves  uppn  her.    Do  you  know  what  she  meant  to  do  ?    Te- 
eant  fo  meet  us  at  New  York  and  send  us  back-back  in 
harne  and  .gnominy.    She  made  her  will.  apd  Le  oùr  totT 

Bu  mfalhble  j„<fee,  she  wiU  not  even  thrusther  gianddaugh^ 
H&omherdoor.  And  he-oh,  he  is  good.  „d  uSt 
H  great,  a.  you  say,  „y  friend-he  s.ys.'V^^  no,  you^^s^ 

rrr^ ■•■1;^^°^  "!"'•■.  0'-.''ei'inaeedge. 


.  „  ""M'-r-'-'h  that  ..hid.  i»  uone  ot  his.    So  w« 
.«  a  roof  10  oover  u^  food  to  eat,  clothe,  to  we«.    And" 


4r 


-ri 


i 


fr* 


J^ 


134 


AFTER. 


burn  with  shame,  aed  rage,  and  humiliation  whenever  I  sec 
him,  and  feel  his  kiiigly,  compassiona;|e  look  upon  me,  the 

pauper  he  has  saved  froni  beggary  and It  is  wicked,  I 

knovur,  and  unjust,  if  you  like,  but  I  will  hâte  hiin  for  it  v^y 
whole  life  loi^g  !" 

"  Good  Heaven  above  !  "  says  Miss  Hàriott.  She 
stands  basket  in  one  hand,  shears  in  the  other,  a  petriâed 
,  listener.  .    ?  -. 

The  girl  has  not  risen,  but  she  sits  upright  as  a  dart,  hçit 
small  hands  clenched,  her  eyes  aflame  with  passionate  a,nger 
and  scom.  >AU  this  has  been  burnjng  within  her  since  the 
night  of  her  arrivai,  and  must  come  out.  Perhaps  Marie  is 
right,  and  Aunt  Denise  has  not  judiciously  trainêd  this  girl. 
A  violent  and  undisciplined  temper  appears,  certainly,  to  be 
one  of  her  prominent  gifts. 

Longworth  stands  listening  to  every  word.  If  they  tum 
their  heads  ever  so  slightly  they  must  infallibly  see  him  ;  but 
both  are  too  absorbed.  For  him,  the  picture  he  sees,  he 
never  fqrgets.  The  small,  slighj^  figure  sitting  in,  the  garden 
chair,  in  its  gray  dress,  a  knot  of 'crimson  ribbon  at  the  throat, 
another  in  the  hair — for  even  thèse  détails  he  takes  in — and 
the  impassioned,  ringing  voice  that  speaks.  The  words  he 
hears  remain  with  him  forever — his  portrait  as  Mlle.  Reine 
sees  him. 

There  is  a  pause  after  her  last  words,  Miss  Hariott,  her 
face  very  grave,  breaks  it. 

"  Mademoiselle,  you  are  crueîly  unjust      '  " 

«  Ah,  he  is  your  friend  1  "  breaks  in  mademoiselle,  with 
icom. 

"  If  he  were  not,  if  he  were  the  most  utter  stranger,  I 
woiild  still  maintain  it-^you  are  cruelly  unjust  to  Mr.  Long- 
worth. Yes,  he  is  my  friend — my  frie'nd,  tried  and  true,  of 
many  year3gr-aD4 IJmow^JiimtCLbe  incapable  o£ -oae.&QKU4- 


M    ■ 


thougbt  pr  action — a  thoroughiy  générons  and  honorable 
man.    He  spoke  toybur  grandmother  as  I  woiuld  havcdone 


^jp-t: 


ss  Hariott,  her 


lemoiselle,  with 


"f^. 


135 


b  his  place,  only  1  never  could  hâve  spoken  one-half  so 
well;    and  m  renouncing  your  fortune,  let  me   tell  vou 
mademcselle.  he  has  done  what  not  ten  men  o«t  of  a  thou! 
sand  would  hâve  donc" 

«Do  yeny  it?    Do  I  not  say  &  acted  generously  and 
w^  ?    Yo«  talk  like  Marie,  a.  if  j  doubted  it     Mon  Dieu  I 

le7hLT"        '°  '"'  "'  ''  *'  «""''"'  "f  '"™'  ""^^-l-  - 

i  J7^  '  'T.*-    ^°"  '^"  ""'  '''"'  *'  '"  i-i-^i^.  how- 
ever.     I  an,  glad  your  sister  is  disposed  to  be  n.ore  fair.     I 

\t^^        "t'î'"''"^  avoidedhi™;  I  .hough.  some- 
Ithing  had  |,re,ud.ced  you  against  him,  but  I  did  nol  dream  il 

rJ^^^Z^^  ^~e«,ansorry.IHad.,oped;: 
„^^l  *°^  "  "*'  °'''"'°"  "»  "•"'"  notiiing  to  a  gentle- 
•oiselle  Reine,  stoo,.,„g  to  pick  up  her  hat.     «  I  ouaht  not 

kZ      k"^T  ™*  """«»  •"  ^O"-  -"d  ^ho.  you  ,ny  hÔmd 

£.or::ti-^dtrei;^:,::inotrdZ.:t 
kdan,e.  fo,  ,,„  „,  .r„„;y":i:„ra:dT  r^::!?!?/ 

kr  fnendship  by  speaking  i„  «,(,  J.,  ,f  th"yoX 
Ned.  and  „  spate  of  a»  thi,  I  want  you  ,„  ,ike  „e  .  to  .  " 

Little  Quetn,"  she  lays,  "did  I  not  tcU  yo^i  before  I  frll 
ove  wuh  you  at  àight  on  boawi  the  Hesoerï?  7 
love  wit4ij^to.^  rirait— -^^^^ 

Pne.t    I  likt  Lpte  to  t^nw     1     "''*^'  '^'^  y°"  "^  t 


-%\ 


l~ 


"•A. 


136 


AfTER. 


with  a  vengeance.    But  still,  I  repeat  and  main  tain,  you 
are  cruelly  unjusl  to  Laurence  Longworth." 

"  I  think  Monsieur  Lpngworth  is  hère,"  says  Reine,  sud- 
denly. 

She  has  chanced  to  glance  around  and  seen  hini  standing 
there,  not  three  yards  oflf,  examining  the  long,  yellow  biids  ot 
a  tea-rose.  She  turns  quite  white  for  a  moment,  and  her 
face  takes  a  startled  look  ;  the  next  a  flash  of  proud  défiance 
leaps  iqto  it.  She  faces  him  resolutely,  lips  compresâed, 
eyes  idi^t. 

♦\Vou  ha,vje  heard  every  word,"  that  fiery  glance  says; 
"yot^  know  how  I  scorn  and  despise  you,  and  1  am  glad  of 
it." 

"  Gpod  aftemoon,  ladies,"  says  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly, 
Cr  taking  oflf  his  hat.     "I  trust  I  see  you  both  well  after  th'# 

•    fatigue  bf  last  night  ?" 

Neitner  speaks.  Miss  Hariott  measures  with"  her  eye 
the  distaînce  at  which  he  has  stood,  and  thoroughly  as  she  is 
accustotiiied  to  his  cool  audacity — or,  as  Frank  puts  it,  "  the 
stupendojus  magnificence  of  his  cheekiness  " — on  this  occa- 
sion it  fbr  the  first  instant  renders  her  dumb.  The  pause 
grows  so  embarrassing  that  Reine  rises  to  go. 

"  Mademoiselle,"    the  gentleman  says,    "  if  my  coming 

1         hastens  your  departure.  Miss  Hariott  will  hâve  reason  to 

regret  my  very  iU-timed  visit." 

.     -'M-  "Your  coming  does  not  influence  my  departure  in  the 

î^         least,"  responds  Madepoiselie,  cpldly  and  proMdly.    "Mees 

Hariott  " — she  turns  to  that  lady,  a  laugh  in  her  eyes — "  you 

,  /. .  cannot  imagine  how  much  gc^  my  visit  has  dône  me.    I  go 

y    awayaiùtb  conscience  lightened,  and  a  mind  relieved,  and  I 

Will  return  to-morrow,  and  ail  the  to-roorrows,  if  you  will  lel 

x        lue.    Un^then,  give  me  one  of  your  roses  as  a  souve- 

.  '*  I  wonder  you  care  to  iTave  it..  Mrs.  Windsor's  specimeni 

•■«  the  finest  in  the  countiy  round.** 


T.hM'.'-*"- 


.*''  ■«^♦#4i''  ""■''^ 


-^        /— - 


AFTER. 


Qdsoi's  specimeof 


r 


137 


M  ' 


Adieu,    tlien, 


'  They  are  not  half  as  swcfet  as  thèse, 
madame,  until  we  meet  again." 

She  passes  Mr.  Longworth  y^  silence,  with  a  stàtely  littl 
bow.  Mr.  Longworth,  also  in  silence,  gravely  and  i^- 
foûndly  réponds.  -Miss  Hariott  goes  with  her  gueçt^  the 
gâte,  and  when  she  returns,  finds  Longworth  comfortably  iu 
the  chair  the  yoqng  lady  has  jiist  vacated,  and  (need  it  be 
said  ?)  hghting  the  inévitable  cigar.  With  sternest  majesty 
in  her  eye,  the  lafïy  faces  hiin.  1 

'«  Laurence  L<)ngworth,  how  lopg  had  you  beèn  standing 
eavesdropper  there ?"  * 

"Let  me  see,"  says  Mr.  Longworth,  and  pulls  out  his 
watch.  «  I  caix  tell  you  to  a  minute.  I  opened  your  gâte 
at  twenty  minutes  of  four,.,now  it  is  five  minutes  past  I 
must  hâve  been  standing  there  examining  that  yeUow  rose 
(the  rose-worms  are  at  it,  by  the  way)  ftfiy  fifteen  minutes. 
But  was  it  eavesdropping,  Mis%  Hariott?  And  is  it  your 
habit  and  Mlle.  Reine's  to  discuss  family  secrets  in  the  open 
air,  and  in  a  to|p  of  voicc  that  he  who  runs  may  read  ?  I 
ask  for  information  ?" 
"  You  heard  every  word  she  said  ?" 
"  Every  Word,  Ithink  and  hope." 

" Very  well,"  says  the  lady,  with  some  grimness.     «At 
least  you  venfSed  the  adage  that  Usteners  never  hear  any 
good  of  themselves,  and  you  hâve  found  out  how  cordially 
;  Mademoiselle  Reine  detests  you." 

fsi^r  m'""^*;"'  ^"^  ^°"  ^"^'^  '^^''^  "^^  ^^''^y^  *  bad 
sign  ?    Mrs.  Malaprop  says,  in  fact,  that  it  is  best  to  begin 

[with  a  little  aversion."  * 

"Beginwhat?"        "  '      , 

Longworth  laughs,  and  puflFs  a  volume  of  sinoke  «to  the 
Erose-bushes.  ' 


<i 


That  elder  «ister  û  aa  enceediiigly 


■'.,'Mt- 


rence.' 
"  Eweedingly  pretty,  Miss  Hegter."'  :  ^ 


■4, 


138 


AFTER. 


"You  paid  her  very  marked  attention  last  night,  I 
observed.  ' 

"  Did  you  ?  Perhaps  you  aiso  observed  that  very  marked 
attentiçn  was  paid  her  by  every  other  man  in\the  house." 

"  And  she  will  be  very  rich."  "      •  / 

"As  one  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  heiresses — naturally." 

"  Larry,"  goes  on  Miss  Hariott,  filliTig  her  basket  witH 
dead  leaves,  "I  observed,  likewise,  that  Mrs.  Windsor 
watched-you  two  with  very  friendly  eyes.  Do  you  think  you 
can  do  better  than  becoine  her  grandson-in  law  ?  " 

"  I  don't  think  I  can." 

"  And  it  is  time  you  married." 

"  So  several  persons  hâve  informed  me  recently,  Is  my 
hair  turning  gray,  are  the  crow's-feet  growing  sô  painfuUy 
pkin,  or  do  I  show  symptoms  of  dropping  into  my  dotage, 
that  the  necessity  of  an  immédiate  wife  is  thus  thrust  upon 
me?" 

"  I  do  not  believe,"  pursue)  the  lady  of  the  cottage,  "  in 
any  man  or  woman  marrying  for  money  ;  but  if  marriage  and 
money  go  hand  in  hand,  held  together  by  a  moderatè 
amount  of  affection,  why,  then  the  combination  is  eminently 
judicipus,  and  greatly  tô  be  desired." 

"^hd  that  moderatè  amount  of  affection  you   think  V 
coulid  get   up  for    JVIrs.    Windsor's  elder  granddaughter  ? 
Well,  she  is  beautifui  enough,  and  brilliant  enoUgh  to^ear- 
rant  a  moderatè  amount,  certainly.     I  présume  it  would  be 
quite  useléss  to  turn  my  thoughts  toward  la  petite  Reine  K 
Her  insuperable  aversion  is  not  to  be  overcôme." 

"  She  rings  true  and  clear  as  steel.    She  does  not  like  you 

-^in  her  place  perhaps  I  would  not  either " 

-  "  But  what  hâve  I  done  ?    I  try  to  be  civil.     I  asked  her 
to  dançe  twice  last  night,  and  she  refused.     She  runs  away  • 
now  when  I  coilae.    She  goes  outof  the  rqom  when  I  yisit 


the  Stone  House.     I  consider  myself  badly  treated — I  am 
scorned,  and  I  don't  know  why.V 


»V  ^L'a  »  "i  I 


,%. 


)■ 


APTER. 


treated — I  am 


139 


"1  thmk  you  3o,  or  you  are  âulïer  than  I  ever  gave  you 

\credit  for.     It  is  unjust,  but  it  is  natural,  and^  flon't  like  her 

iny  the  less  for  it.     But  thîs  is  beside  the  (gestion.     I  sup- 

^>se  if  you  fell  in  love  with  either,  it  would  of  course  be 

A^anel  "  ' 

^"Why  of  course  ?  "  ,      " 

'  She  is  beautiful^Reine  is  not.    Need  we  give  ariy  ôther 
realson  toaman?"       ^  -"      /. 

yt  is  your  turn  to  be  unjust.  Miss  Hariott^  Me^  do  not 
alw^s  give  the, pain,  to  beaut^.  The  woraen  of  history, 
anciènt  and  modem,  who  hâve  exercised  the  inost  extraordi- 
nary  bower  of  fascination  hâve  been  plain-they  ieave  more 
to  thé  imagmation,  I  presuiiie.  But  Mademoiselle  Reine  is 
not  plkin-no  woman  could  be  with  such  a  pair  of  eyes,'  such 
an  angfehc  voice„and  such  a  smile.  The  light  of  that  smile 
does  nbt  often  fall  upon  me,  I  regret  to  say-I  might  appre- 
ciate  its\  beauty  less  if  it  did."         ? 

"  Verjr  tnje.     But  do  you  mean  to  tell  me " 

^  \l  TiT  ?  '^"  ^°"  ^^y^'^^^Z.  except  that  Mlle. 
Mane.  ^^  ail  her  loveliness,  i^a  blonde,  and  blondes  are 
tasteless  ahd  insipid."  .  , 

"  Indeecr\[/  You  did  not  always  think  -so  " 

tivë  l!!^  ™'^  '''^"^'  ^'^  ™'"^-  ^'  '^  *  ^*>"^»'«  Preroga. 
tive,  but  a  man  may  use  it.     I  think  so  now.    Are  you  not 

nearly , through  with  that  etérnal  snipsnip ?  If  you^re  her* 
IS  a  bundie  of  new  novels.  Look  ove'r  them'^nd  e'tJ! 
P2nl7  '''""  '"  ^'^  next  nimber  of  the    mT^y  . 

ice:i!:^th:2!,<S'  "'  '^''^-  ^^  "^  «--^^  - 

But  Mr  Longwcrth  declines--he  is  on  hîs  way  home  to 
dm,jer,  and  acco,«ingly  départs.    Hetakes  thalle  ^u^ 


on 


g^^st^t,  induire  U.r  ^..^^^ZZ^'^^^, 
}^l^'^^^S^^  ^  drawin^room  when  he  enten^ 


~rM 


4-*. 


i  . 


nï. 


V^* 


■''•J^ 


140 


AFTER. 


I  I,'  V 


perfectiy  dresséd,  ail  the  red-gold  haïr  floating  loosely,  and 
•she  looks  up  and^welcomes  him  with  ^  cordiality  that  amply 
makes  amender  her  obdurate  sister's  perversity.    - 

"  I  came  to  ask  you  how  you  were,  biit^  I  need  not,"  he 
says,  holding  the  slim,  whitehand  she  give^  him,  sind  looking 
into  tjie  bright  face.  .  "i  wonder  if  anything  could  njakeyou 
look  pallid  and  fàtigued?  " 

"  Not  five  hours*  dancing,  certainly.  Besides,  I  slept  ail 
day;  I'  hâve  a  talent  for  sleeping.  We  ail  hâve  some  one 
talent,  hâve  We  not?  The  party  was  pleasant,  and  I  like 
your  Baymouth  people  so  much.  How  very  handsome  jour 
cousin  is,  Mr.,  lyongworth."  '^  «^ 

^  "Totty— Mrs.^SheIdon^?,  Yes  she  is  rather.  I  had  an- 
other  cousin  présent  last  night  <for  whôm  you  .do  not  in- 
quire,  and  who  stanâs  in  need  of  inquiry,  ï  assure  you." 
«Mr.  Frank  Dexter?  He is  well,  I  hope  ? " 
"  Not  at  ail  well— unconîraonly  ill  I  shoqld  say  ;  in  mind 
of  c<5urse,^nbt  in  body.  Need  I  speak  more  plainly  of 
what  is  patent  to  ail  the  world  ?  In  your  strength  remember 
■fiaercy.  Miss  Landelle  !  " 

Mrs.  Windsor  comes  in,  is  pleased  to  see  Mr.  Longworth, 
a^id  presses  him  to  stay.  This  second  invitation  he  also  dé- 
clines, thinking  as  he  does  so  that  Frank  is  halfright,  and 
that  he  must  be  developing  sundry  tame-cattish  prodivities 
to  be  so  greatly  in  request.  .  * 

Reine  does  not  appear,  but  as  he  goes  down  the  avenue, 
he  catches  a  glimpse  oif  a  gr?iy  dresS,  and  a  red  breast-knol 
ahead.  She  makes  no  attempt  to  avôièiâm,  retui-ns  his  for- 
mal  salute,  and  passes  on.  And  then  at  Kis  feet,  wbere  «he 
has  stood  a  moment  befbre,  he  sees  that  other  knot  of  crim- 
son  silk  which  she  has  worn  in  her  hftj^  He  stoops  and 
picks  it  up,  glauces  after  her  with  tlié  honest  intention,  no 
<^o"bt,  of  foUoWing  apd  restoring^  the  droppéd  property 


TlriB^i  Beffèr  of  it,  pûts  itlnto  %s  treast-pocket,  and  goes 


on. 


)AFTER. 


141 


Another  time/'  he  thinks;  "my  intentions  are  virtuous, 
but  my  .courage  is  weak.  It  would  take  more  moral  nervç 
than  I  possess  to  face  tliat  stately  little  refrigerator  again. 
just  now."  ,.  -,  . 

He  goes  Ijome,  and  dines,  lingers  with  the  boarders  for  a 
^  tune,  and  is  "  chaffed  »  ab^ut  his  very  pronounced  dévotion 
of  last  night  to  Mrs.  Windsor's  heiress.     Frank  sits  opposite 
glowenng  darkly  and  suUenly,  and  says  nothing.     Tfien  Mr' 
Long^vorthsaunters  back  to  the  office  and  remains   there 
hard  at  work    until  nearly  eleven.     The   majority  of  the 
boarders  ha,^  retired  before  he  ,eturns,  but  the  stoop  is  not 
quitedeserted  when  he  and  O'Sulliyan  ascend  the  steps,  for 
Mrs  Sheldort  sits  there  alone,  wearîng  the  blue  silk  Long, 
worth  admired  yesterday,  and  .vrapped  in  a  hght  summer 
•  shawl,  apparently  watçhing  the  stars  shining  on  the  bay 

"You,Totty?-  says  Mr.  Longworth,  "and  at  this  thue 
of  night  ?  You  will  get  yoUr  death  of  cold.  What  do  vou 
mean  by  sitting  herè,  and  looking  at  the  moon  ?  " 

"There  is  no.moon  to  look  àt,"  Mrs.  Sheldon  anàwers. 
snnlmgly.      She   nods  to  Mr.    O'Sullivan,   who  discreetly 
passes  m  at  once.     "  1  do  not  think  I  was.  looking  at  any 
tnmg.    I  hâve  been  sitting  hère,  thinking  of—you  " 

«Thats  friendly,"'  says  Longv/orth  in  hi^  calmest  tone. 
Nothmg  v^ry  unkind,  I  hope..    Which  of  my  failings  «rere 
you  gnevmg  over  as  I  came  up  ?" 

"  Hâve  you  failings  ?  "  she  says.     «  I  supposé  you  hâve, 
btU  I  never  see  them.    I  would  be  ungenerous  indeed  if  I 

They  are  getting  on,<îangerous  ground.     They  do  drift'  • 
upon  sundry  shoals  ^nd  quicksands  occasionally  in  çonvor- 
jation,  but  it  must  be  stated  thefault  is  not  the  gentleman's; 
.u^r'i' '^l!?'^"'"''^""  P'-0'»Ptly  °o^-anythinff  m.r. 


r^  thair  limTemàrk,  more  unsentimentaTthan  his  tone 

cannot  well  be  conceived.  -    -  4      .  '    ^ 

'*X<lo.i't  know  how  it  iW  b«  with>^  âftér  wS  nighi." 


•s* 


'•  l.'l 


>' 


^$ 


>" 


1'^ 


142 


AFTER. 


he  says,  suppressing  a  yawn,  *•  but  I  ain  consumedly  sleepy. 
I  got  up  and  went  to  the  office  at  eight,  you  know,  and 
hâve  been  hard  at  it  ever  since.  Better  coine  in,  Mrs.  Shel- 
don  ;  you'U  catch  cold  to  a  dead  certainty  in  this  déw." 
^  "  Laurence  !  "  she  exclaims  petulantly,  "  I  hâte  that  naine 
*  from  you.  Call  me  Totty  always — no  cne  does  but  you 
hôw,  and  I  like  it.     Mamnia  says  Laura." 

"Well,  if  you  like.  It's  not  a  very  dignified  appel\a« 
tion-- — " 

"  But  I  prefer  it  from  you,"  ^e  says,  half  under  her 
breath  ;  "  it  brings  back  the  old  times  when  we  were  both 
young.     Oh,  jf  they  could  only  come  ail  over  again  !" 

"  It  would  bê  k  treme^dous  mistake,  take  ipy  word  for  it. 
Old  times  should  never  be  brought  back.  Let  thé  dead  di'e, 
and  be  buried  decently  and  forever  out  of  sight  and  mind." 

"  Is  there  nothing,  then,  in  the  past  you  woûld  wish  brought 
back,  Laurence  ?  " 

"Nothing,"  returns  Longworth,  promplly,  "except,  per- 
haps,  a  few  absconding  subscribers.     But  they  are  hopeless." 

"  I  was  thinking  when  you  came,  up,"  she  goes  on,  her 
voice  hurried  and  tr'emulous,  "  of  that  time  so  long  ago,  when. 
your  uncle  and  my  mother  behaved  so  badly  to  us  both — to 
you  most  of  ail.  When  I  see  you  working  so  4^d,  and  think 
of  what  you  were,  and  of  ail  you  hâve  lost  for  my  sake,  do 
you  think, — Laurence,  do  you  think  I  can  èver  forget  my 
foUy  or  forgive  my  blindnes^  ?  " 

"  I  don't  see  why  not,  You  did  me  no  harm — pecuniarily, 
at  least.  I  never  was  a  happier  man  in  my  life  than  since  I 
hâve  had  to  work  for  my  living.  Don't  let  the  past  trouble 
you  on  my  account,  my  dear  Laura,  I  beg." 

His  tone  is  cool — is  sarcastic,  almost,  one  might  say.  But 
though  her  heart  is  beating  suifocatingly,  she  is  not  to  be 


"-"Woppff  rr wEàt  she  wishès  tÔliay. 

"  In  those  past  days,"  she  goes  on,  brokenly,  "  I  never 
jised  to  think  at  ail  ;  now  I  seein  to  do  nothitoglelie.     Oh, 


S 


^ 


AFTER. 


VU) 


.  •   .    •  '*^ 

wbat,  a  dîild  I  was!  how  little  I  valued  ail  that  you  offered 
'  m^  1  how  lightly  I  threw  it  from  n>e  !  and  now  when  I  would 

givç  niy  liîe  to  win  it  back Laprence  !  "  she  cries  out, 

in  a  àifled  voice,  "  M  it  too  late  ?  "  '- 

'«It  is  precisely  eighr yêars  and  four  months  too  late,"  he 
apswers  with  perfect  composure.     He  is  in  for  it,  and  niay 
as  well  hâve  it  out.     "  I  offered  you  a  txoy's  senseless  pas- 
sion, and  you  very  properly  refused  it.     You  threw  me  over 
and  married  Sheldon,  a  much  bettèr  fellow^     For  that  sort 
of  thing  there  is  no  résurrection.     As  to  the  re^t— my  uncle'a 
fortune,  and  so  on— I  don't  regret  its  loss.     As  Mr.  Long- 
worth's  heir  presumptive  I  was  simply  good  for  nothing  ;  as 
a  hardiworking  editor  I* flatter  myself  I  am  good  for  so'me- 
thing.     That  mad  thirst  fox  gol(^  which  some  men  possess  I 
never  felt,  and  never  wiU,  and  like  the  rest  of  mankind  I 
compound  '  for  the  sins  I  am  inclined  to,  by  damning  those 
I  hâve  no  niind  to.'     I  happen  to  be   one  of  the   people 
to  whora    money  is  not  the    chief  end  and  aim  of  life,  to 
whom  their  art  would  be  dear  though  it  kept  them  beggars. 
It  is  exceedingly  kind  of  you,  ôf  course,  to  think  of  me  in 
this  way,  and  regret  the  past  for  my  sake  ;  but  you  need  not 
.  -for  I  never  do.     You  sée  in  me  a  perfectly  satisfied  man, 
content  with  to-day,  not  asking  too  much  of  to-niorrow,  and 
never,  never  for  an  instant  wisliing  to  recall  yesterday.     We 
will  always  be  good  friends  and  cousins,  I  hope,  Totty  • 
more  than  friends — never  again."  ' 

The  calm,  friendly  voice  ceases.     She  has  buried  her  face 
in  her  hands  and  turned  from  him,  shamed,  humbled,  re-   ' 
jected. 

''Best  corne  in,"  he  says,  gently;  "you're  certain  to  bç 
laid  up  with  cold  in  the  héad  to-morrow."        *  , 
_She  lifts  her  face,  but  keeps  it  turned  from  hîm,  h>>r  poU 
^^-  eyes,  with  an  angry  gleam  in  them,,fixed  on  the  misty 


■ea. 


'^5 


4tddoié1à  the  head  I  "  she  repeatj^  *|id  laughs  deriiive^ 


,/ 


\ 


r-  - 


.^.., ., 


144 


"****;  ^  '"^^^jïffi'S^^ 


/•>  !.. 


i 


"*^ 


k:;:: 


LONGWORTirs  IDYL. 


«  You  hâve  been  à  poet  and  a  novelist,  Mr.  I.ongworth,  biit 
you  are  not  a  roman  tic  man.  Don't  let  nië  detain  you— don't 
mind  me — I  will  go  in  directly."  '      * 

He  takes  her  at  her  word,  turning  to  go,  sorry  that  he  has 
wouniled  her,  but  not  liking  the  situation,  and  not  knowing 
what  to  say.  So  he  says,  "  Good-night,"  and  gocs  in,  and 
leaves  lier  there  alone.  And,  though  hé  is  not  a  romantic 
man,  two  little  verses  he  has  read  somewhere  corne  tojii^ 
memory  as  he  goes  upstairs  : 

**  I  had  died,  for  this  last  year,  to  know  :  ^^ 

You  loved  me.     Who  shall  tura  on  fate  f 
I  care  not  if  love  corne  or  go 

Now  ;  though  your  love  seek  mine  for  mate, 
It  is  too  late. 

"  You  loved  me,  and  you  loved  me  not,  ' 

^         A  little  much  aryd  overmuch — 
Will  you  forget  as  I  forget  ? 
'',  Let  ail  dead  things  lie  dead  ;  none  soch 

Are  soft  to  touch." 


CHAPTER  XI. 

LONGWORTH'S   IDYL.  W^ 

lis  face  has  shown  very  little  feeling  of  any  sort,  as  he 

stopd  Içaning  against  the  honeysuckle-wreathed  pil- 

lar  of  the  stoop jand  rejected  a  woman,  but  this  impas- 

siveness  has  grown  with  him  second  nature.     But  at  least  the 

brief  interview  has  banished  ail  présent  désire  for  sleep.     He 

seats  himsclf  before  the  open  window,  élevâtes  his  boots  on 

J]igjsiIl».iiltaJuddiis-dmii^in^nuuïe  Yankee  fagbionr^^^ 


the  inévitable  cigar,  without  which  he  can  neithei  write  nor 
think,  and  prépares  to  introvert  himself.     Hère  in  his  quiet 


> 


t' 


w^J 


:r 


LONGWbRTWS  WYI,,  145 

room,  with  ail  thc  house  at  rest  around  him,  the  low,.  mur- 
murous  soupd  of  the  water  lapping  thcshore,  Ihe  slipping 
of  a  branch,  the  tremulous  twitter  of  a  bird  in  its  nest,  the 
ilinumerable  sounds  of  silence  alone  to  be  heard,  ten  years 
pf  his  life  slip  away,  and  he  is  back  in  the  gallant  and  golden 
days  of  his  youth,  hopefui,  high-hearted,  enthusiastic,  twenty- 
two,  and  in  love.  ^ 

The  broad  expanse  of  star-lit  bay  fades  from  before  him  ; 
a  Southern  landscape,  steeped  in  the  fire  of  an  April  sun' 
takes  its  place.     He  sees  the  long  wh^te  Georgian  mansion,' 
with  its  piazzas,  itsopen  doors  and  Windows,  the  cotton-^ldr 
afar  off  with  the  negroes  at  Wrk,  the  "quarters,"  a  njk^ 
ture  vi|age,  where  his  Uncle  LongWorth's,  people  live     It 
is  a  fair  picture,  a  noble  domain,  one  day  to  be  ail  his  own. 
As  a  boy,  orphaned  and  nearly  dc*titute,  his  rich  ahd  childless 
uncle,  who  ail  his  life  had  held  himself  aloof  from  his  fainily 
and  every  domestic  tie,  absorbed  heart  and  soûl  in  the  hol 
pursmt  of  gold,  came  forward  and  took  him  to  his  home-to 
his  heart  as  well,  such  heart  as  his  life-long  worship  of  Ma», 
mon  had  left  him.     He  was  a  handsome  lad,  and  a  gallant. 
brave,  highispirited,  self-wiUed.  fuU  of  generous  impulses, 
raâh  to  recklessness,  but  with  a  heart  as  tender  and  nearly 
as  easily  touched  as  a  girl's.     And,  best  of  ail,  with  the  God-. 
fearingpnncples  of  a  gentle  and  Ipving  mother  so  dceply 
implanted  that  neither  the  world,  the  flesh,  nor  the  devil 
(and  au  three  battled  hard  in  his  life  of  ease  and  selÊindul- 
gence  under  bis  uncle's  rooQ  could  ever  whoUy  eradicate 

day,  with^a  temper  as  sunny  and  nearly  as  hot  as  the  cloud. 

ess  southem  weather,    In  short  a  youth,  so  unlike  in  ail 

Uimgs,  theff-ave,  8elf-repres:;ed  man  of  tWrty,  ihatin  lookinr 

backward  hemight  well  wonder  what  M  Ucom"  oTZ 


of  ^r^ "'m  Î^**"«^Î'^'»^*«  * «^«Phew  and  an.heir  to  be  pro«| 
of,  and  old  James  Longworth  was  proud  of  hiiu.   -A»  Z 


•  f  1 


\ 


'*H'' 


V 


146 


LONGWORTWS  IDYL 


■* 


:..■■%■ 


Il  •■ 


love  of  a  œoney-grubbing  life  that  might  ha^.been  diWded 
bet^een  wife  and  children,  was  concentrated  on  his  boy.  He 
sent  hin^to  a  Northern  collège  until  he  was  cigbteen,  and 
then  to  Gerpianxifor  the  next  four  years,  to  complète  a  most 
thoroughly  unbusiness-like  and  unconmiercial  éducation. 
The  boy  should  never  grub  along  in  dingy  warehouses,  nôr 
lose  that  bright  and  golden  beauty  of  his,  pouring  over  dfy- 
as-dust  ledgers,  He  should  not  even  be  a  professional  man  ; 
with  the  wealth  he  was  to  inherit,  what  need  of  toiling  to 
master  a  profession  ?  He  should  be  a  young  Georgian  prince  ; 
he  should  marry,  by  and  by,  of  the  elect  of  the  land;  hé 
«hould  rear  sons  tg  hand  the  name  of  Longworth,  und^filed 
by  commerce,  -down  to  dim  futurity.  That  was  the  old  lijan's 
ambition,  and  young  Laurence  was  only  too  ready  and  wiH- 
ing  to  gratify  it.  \ 

He  led  a  lordfy  life  ;  his  pockets  were  filled  with  raoney 
scattered  hither  and  thither  with  a  reckless  prodigality.     Mr. 
Longworth  never  stinted  him— when  he  traveled  it  was  ^p' 
prince^  Indeed  he  was  known  as  "  Duke  Laurence  "during 
his  life  at  Heidelberg.     With  it  ail  he  had  hTs  own  ambition, 
and  high  sensé  of  honor,  and  notions  of  the  obligations  of  a 
prince,  and  studied  hard,  and  ended  his  course  with  univer- 
sity  honoES.     Among  the  varied  and  usefullnformation  not 
set  down  in  the  unîversity  course,  was  a  taste  fOr  smoking, 
for  tl^e  unlimited  cûhsuraption  of  lager-bier,  and  the  other 
German  nectars,  for  small-sHord  exercise,  and  soft-ey^d,  fair- 
haired  Gretchens.     Abouf  onç  pf  thèse  frauleins  hefought  a 
duçl  the  lastyear,  pinked  his  tfdrersary,  without  doing  him 
nauch  damage,  and  finally  reiurned  home  andfell  in  love  with 
M»  second  £ousin,  Laura.     It  was  his  very  first  serious  "af- 
^«;**  that  of  Gretchen  had  been  the  veriest  summcr^Iay 
fency— bom  and  buried  in  an  ho^.     But  this  was  différent, 
you  understand.     She  wa»»not  unlike  Gretchen  eith^r,  ât 


suu 


"^œpSir  ïQx  her  âge,  in<;lined  even  then  tû  a  delightful 
phiropness,  ail  that  flàxen  hair  failing  fluffy  and  crim'py  tober 

.  .,    „ _  .    I    /''  -  __'^  ..^ 

"ï- ■"■     -«^     '  r         "  ' 


-ft. 


LONGWORTWS  IDYL. 


14^ 


waist,  and  in  "lunatic  fringe"  to  her  very  eyebrowi.    The 
blue  eyes  were  rather  small,  rather  light,  rather  expression- 
less,  and  the  readr*înile  that  came  and  went  so  incesçantly, 
rather  vacubtts,  and  insipid,  and  silly.     That  is,  it  might  • 
seem  so,  to  hypercritical  people-i-to  Laurence  Longwortfc- 
atat  twenty-two,  Laura  Longworth  was  a  paradisiacal  vision 
of  purity,  lovèliness,  and  white  Swiss  dresses,  and  to  win  this    1 
most  beauteous  of  her  sex  for  his  wife  would  be  to  crown  \À% 
existence  with  ne ver-ending  ecstasy. 

Miss  Lâjira  Longworth,  otherwise  Totty,  at  sixteen  had  no   - 
more  mind  of  her  owh,  no  more  individual  soûl,  than  a  newly- 
hatched  chicken.     But  shé  could  sete  that  young  Laurence 
was  handsome,  and  dressed  in  pérfect  taste,  and  wore  such 
dianiond  studs  and  buttons  as  made  her  small,  pale  eyes  open 
wide  in  wonder  and  admiration.     Hiç  taste  was  not  toned  in 
those  days-the  lad  wéi  inclined  to  be  foppish,  and  likeddia- 
^J'^'^y  the  fir«  i»ter,  and  superfine  linen,  and  broadcloih. 
His  présents,  too,  were  such  as  any  heir-presumptive  might 
offer  to  his  princess  consort,  and  Tott/s  white  fat  little  hands 
jere  hands  to  hold  fast  âll  they  éould  grasp.  even  at  sixteen. 
Ihe  costly  books  and  bouquets  she  did  not  care  about    but 
the  jewelry  touched  her  inmost  soûl.     It  wâs  tiresome  of 
Larry  to  msist  on  lying  at  her  feet  on  the  grass,  and  reâding 
dull  poetry  aloud  by  the  ho^ir  out  of  thoSe  aforesaid  bhle  and 
gilt  books.     Poetry  bored  iW-so  did  books  of  any  kind, 
m  fact,  but  this  was  the  only  draWt^ack  she  could  find  in  her 
spiend.d  young  lover.     And  sathe  sWt,  hot  weeks  wore  on, 
artd  June  was  appr<?aching,  and  Mrs.  Longworth  began  to  ^ 
talk  of  fleemg  from  the  suwwer  heata,  and  going  back  to  her  ^ 
Baymouth  home.       >^t" --    :   •  -  ?     **       v  *r   r^ 

»K  AT"^  t  ^"'  ^«'^^'■t»»-     She  was  so  i^motely  Éin  to  ^ 
^     1^  ■'j""''-  ""'"^^"^  ^^'  ^^  neverdared  to  .nnn> 


upo»  Uiekinsfiip.    ArTsFeliFSaTiarrea^^ 

de^.     Her  late  husband,  besides  being  only  a  very  distant 

cou^n  of  James  Longworth,  had  made  Jamc»  Long^ortli  io 


.%\ 


h  1 


i^ 


vL,:^'"    •^'^^'"^ •"'■■■ '-■i''^'^'^|r^'^^^'''''^ 


Ï* 


148 


LONGWORTirS  IDYL. 


early  youth  nis  bîtter  foe.  Mr.  Longworth  was  a  good  hâter , 
he  never  pardpned  an  affront,  never  forgave  an  enemy  if  hc 
could  help  himself.  And  so,  when  at  the  beginning  Laurence 
had  corne  one  day  full  of  the  news  and  exclaimed,  *'l  say, 
unde,  hcre's  Mrs.  Longworth  frona  Baymouth  and  her  daugh- 
tcr  stopping  at  the  Sheldons'.  It  would  only  be  handsome,' 
»ir,  I  think,  to  ask  them  hère,"  the  old  man  had  bent  his  bushy 
gray  brows  and  scowled.       .  \ 

"  Tom  Longworth's  widow  and  her  girl  hère  1  What  are 
they  after?  Very  bad  taste  on  their  part  to  corne  where  I 
am;  but  I  Içnowthat  woman— a  brazen,  bold-faced  hussy, 
and  vicions  enough  for  anything.  Tom  Longworth  was  a 
*knave  and  a  fobt  ;  no  widow  or  d^ughter  6î  his  shall  ever 
cross  this  threshold." 

"  But  you  bave  no  right,  sirJto  visit  the  wrong^oiog  of  the 
father  upon " 


iirj.ti 


'  Bosh,  Larry  !     How  ^ld;is  this  girl  ?  " 

j^Qf  the  loveliest- 
irael 


.    •"  Sixteen,  sir,  and 

"  Of  course  1  of  ^r»  1  Every  bread-and  butter  school- 
.girl  isan  angel  in  m  eyes  of  a  soft-headed  boy  of  twenty. 
two.  What  has^ï^r  mother  brought  her  down  hère  for? 
Coul^'t  she  barfer  her  off  up  North  ?  Or  does  sh^  want  to 
^catch  young  Sfieldon?  He's  neXt  door  to  à  fool,  but  his 
prospects  are  good,  and  I  daresay  Sarah  Longworth  will 
find  it  easi^'to  inveigle  a  fool  than  a  man  endowed  witb  the 
average  aroount  of  common  sensé.  For  you,  Lairy,  my  lad, 
I  never  interfère  with  your  amusements,  as  you  know— ^âirt 
with  thii  little  Longworth,  or  any  one  else,  to  your  hearf  s 
content  There  is  a  certain  amount  of  calf  love  which  young 
fellowsof  your  stamp  find  it  indispensable  toget  rid  of  some- 
how  before  they  roarry  and  settle  ;  you  raay  bestow  a  little  of 
its  superfluity  on  this  girl,  if  yoa  like  ;  but  when  it  cornes  to 

lEiying,yott  shall  please  m<i  as  well  &»  yottfaelfe  —Thafï 

do  !     Re^rve  your  éloquence  for  the  future,  when  you  gc 

to  represent  your  native  State  in  Congress,  you  koow— <lou'f 


^i8S^'-: 


A/il*  »   ^Vi  *!,.  j'asfei  j'^'  *-.^l*î*v«<i 


"V, 


LOlfGWORTWS  IDYl. 


I4p 


inflict  it  on  me.  You  t«là  me  irou  were.  short  of  funds  yes- 
terday.  Here's  a  check  for  cuitent  expansés.  Go  and  en- 
joy  yourself;  but  mind,  my  l^y"~he  lays  his  hand  on 
the  lad's  square  shoulder,  and  looks  at  him,  half-imperi- 
ously,  half-fondly— "nothing  se^ious  for  two  or  three  vears 
.yet."  ■  .         ■       ,       ,  - 1  ^    .  -Y 

Young  Laurence,  very  erect,  very  resolute,  veiy  indignant, 
opens  his  lips  to  answer,  is  waved  authoritatively  down,  takes 
Ws  check,  rides  pflF  to  town,  and  buys  a  pearl  liecklace  for 
his  fair^  pale  gqsjdess.  It  is  the  only  sort  of  offering  he  has 
<Rscovered  that  can  bring  a  sparkle  of  rapture  to  her  eyes  a 
flush  of  joy  to  her  cheeks.  Flowers  may  hâve  a  language'to 
him-to  Miss  Totty,  peerless  but  practical,  they  speak  not 
half  so  eloquently  as  pearls.  It  disappoints  him  a  little,  but 
gu-ls  are  hke  that,  he  jtidges,  fond  of  jewels,  ^d  laces,  and 
pretty  tbmgs.     He  is  fond  of  them  himself,  in  a  way. 

It  is  hardly  necessaiy,  perhaps,  ta  record,  that  long  before 
this  he  "  has  told  his  love,"  in  buming  and  éloquent  words-. 
not  that  bu^mg  éloquence  was  needed-^d  has  beeo 
accepted. 

Mrs.  Longworth  is  enchanted.    Some  uitimate  design 
uponyoung  William  Sheldon  has^rought  her  hère,  it  may  b^ 
but  young  Laurence  Longwonh  is  more  than  she  could  hâve 
hoped  for.    As  the  wife  of  James  Longworth's  heir,  Tott^s 
position  and  her  own  are  secure  for  aU  time.     But  Mrs 
Longworth  must  go  home,  and  this  pleâsant  idyl  must  come 
to  an  end    Lamrence  must  speak  to  his  «nde,  says  Mrs. 
Longworth  ;  it  would  placé  her  darling  in  a  false  position,  to 
takeheraway.engaged,without  Mr.  Longworth's  sanction 
and  Wessing,  and  that  she  could  never  consent'to 
Laurence  goes  home  and  speaks.     He  stands  before  hii 


Jteaà«r^  diètes  hi»  cousin  Uur»  to«ïi.îac;ion,  h7c«^ 
bave  neithe^  hfe  nor  hope  apart  from  her,  she  willte  th« 
vmvf^m^th^mà,  geniu»  of  hit  lirej  will  her  unde  uot 


w  * 


-4 


-t 


•"5S 


1 


t'.r-r 


.    "     -'.4 


''\ 


ISO 


LOlfGWORlWS  ID  YL. 


forget  and  for^^Ve  the  past,  and  take  her  to  his  heart  as  the 
daughter  of  his  home  ? 

J^T  ^;°"«t°f"*"«'<^?»>  grdwingpurple  with  passion,  and 

nesfromhischairwithagreatoath.     Acceptherl   th^  art 

H  »aneuvenngdaughterof  abrazen^sordid,  inatch-making, 

money-hunting  mother  ?    Allow.Tom  Longworth's  daughte 

to  enter  this  house  as  its  mistress  ?    He  would  set  fire  to  it 

with  his  Qwn  hand  and  burn  it  to  the  ground  first    For 

^unTibol  li';    "^''t  '°""''^'  sentimental,  ridiculous 
young  fool,  and  if  ever  he  mentions  that  girl's  name  in  his  • 

shillmg,  hke  the  beggar  he  was  when  he  took  him  in 

he  ,s  not  cbo.ce  m  his  words  nor  particular  in  his  epithets. 

face'T  .'    .       '''''''T  °'  ^'•'"''^'  "^PP^"»  ^'^  ^"'«^n  old 
face,  and  glaring  up  ferociously  angry  at  his  heir.     That  con- 

turaacious  young  gentleman  stands  before  him,  his  blond 
face  quite  colorless  with  a  passion  as  intense  as  his  own  his 
hps  set,  a  steely  flre  in  his  handsome  blue  eyes,  butZugh 
^«ge  is  at  white  heat,  he  holds  himself  wd,  i„Tand 
Whenever  the  uncle  waxes  furious,  and  coarse,  and  vituper 
ative,  the  nephew  puts  himjown  wift  contemptuous,  lordly. 
gentlemarily,  frigid  quiet.  ,  ^' 

„  J  ^f^,*'*^*; f **""^«  «P»'^«^«  you  may  find  it  necessary  to 
use,  sir,  m  his  most  ducal  way  says  "  Duke  Laurence  " 
looking  the  fiery  oWman  unwinkingly  in  theeye,  «you  wiU 
hâve  the  goodness  to  apply  to  n,e,  not  to  a  young  lady  whose 
acccptance  of  my  smt  1  consider  the  chief  honor  of  my  life 

shim„/^h  Z"  ^""u""^'   ^'  '°  ""'«^"^  ""^^  °"t  -ithout  ; 

shilhng,  the  l^ggar  that  you  found  me,  that  is  a  threat  you 
hâve  made  before.  To  «ve  you  the  trouble  of  repearingT 
thç  next  time  you  make  it  I  will  take  you  at  your  word.» 
Mr.  Laurence  leaves  the  ronm,      " 


t^^ 


"     -    -. 

♦     - 

« 

.ajjjijV^y 

fcower,  to  procUim  tl»t  Uirough  good  wd  UI,  th>ough  6r« 


i  :,tà/miÀ:<H-''-^- 


•ff^'-i,^t,^if'<***f+' 


■M'.v, 


>  -. 


tbNGWORTH'S  IDYL. 


and  water,  through  life  and  beyond  life,  he  is  hers,  to  do  with 
as  she  chooses.  - 

Totty  listens,  and  wishes  he  wouIdn't~he  makes  her  head 
achô  when  he  gocs  on  like  that,  he  had  better  speak  to 
mamma,  maninia  wUl  know  what  to  do.  And  manuna  knitâ 
her  maternai  brows,  and  looks  anxious. 

«  Laurence,  does  he  mean  that  ?  "  she  asked  ;  "  is  it  ônly 
an  idie  threat  of  anger,  or  wiU  he  keep  his  word?  I  mean 
abojut  disinheriting  you."  ,  -^ 

"  "    ■"**  it  is  extr^ly  likely,"  sàys  Laurence,  coolly  ; 
sort  of  customer,  is  the  governor,  to  say  unpleas- 
aapWB^  and  stick  to  them.     But  you  know  Mrs.  Long-  * 
worth.  not  a  thousand  fortunes  shaU  corne  betwcea  me  anë 
my  love  for  Totty."  n 

"Oh  !  I  know,  I  know,"  says  Mrs.  Longworth,  in  a  stiU  " 
more  worried  tone;  ''of  cpurse  you're  evervthing  tlïafs 
honorable,  Lairy,  but  it  i§n^  that.  Yen  sée  there  is  honor 
due  on  our  side  too,  and  I  couldn't,  oh!  I  really  couldn't 
allow  you  to  ruin  yourself  for  my  daughter-s  sake.  If  your 
uneie  won't  consent,  you  must  give  her  up." 

/♦And  a  pretty,  penniless,  good-for-nothing  son-in-law  I 
should  hâve  on  my  hands,"  adds  the  lady,  mentally,  glancing 
contemptuously  to  the  fair-haired  prince  of  the  house  of  . 
Longworth.  "A  nice  lily  of  the  field  you  would  be,  if  eut 
off  with  a  shilhng,  neifiier  able  to  toU  nor  spin,  twenty-two 
years  of  âge,  and  fit  for  nothing  but  to  read  tomfooleiy  out 
of^poetry  books,  and  taik  like  the  hero  of  a  novel  " 

Never  I     My  uncle  shaU  corne  round  and  acçept  her.  or  if 

Ïo  ?r  TJ?u  ''•"  "^"  ">'^^"  ^^yi^  «fe-  I  hâve 
youth,  and  health,  and  strength,  a  fair  éducation,  and  the 

ol!t  ^mT^  ^  *  '^'^^  '**'  "y^*^-  '^  '^orfd  is  mine 
^8ter--ri  lopen  u.  I  ask  nothing  but  that  Totty  «uty  be 
yue  to  me."  __.      . ,,  '  . 


<i?r 


.'i^- 


H 


^, 


■!:**■.«■•  rs 


'f 


LONawoKTH's  tori. 


Totjy.     Bu,  rf  you  ca„„ot-and  indeed  I  am  afraid  you  «,. 

"  Well.  now,  Làorepce,  be  reasonable.    Thmk  of  ft.    You 
,  "«  '«■«y-lFO,  you  hâve  no  piofeMion,  you  are  m*  for 

'  T^  ^Z  l  «'"  '"'  •  ""''  *"'  ""'"^y  «'"«'t.oi  aud 
.taowledge  ofCreek  a«I  tarip,  French  and  German.  I 
beUeve  a  young  nian  whp  has  to  makfe  his  way  in  ,he  world 
willget  on m«ch better  without  any  of  ehose  Aings,  although 
fl»  French  tnd  German  taigh.  no.  hur»  hta.  The«  w^* 
be  an  engagement  ôfyeamand  years,  and  I  object  to  long 

.  would  hâve  a  hard  time.  Still  «e  won',  do  anyehing  pre^ 
»a  urely;  „e„ill  wai.  and  see  wha.  you  can  do  w4  X 
flmty-hearted  old  uncle."  -  "«n  me 

Laurence  «,eks  ou.  Tot.;r_p„or-To..y  l_and  pour,  hi, 
love  and  h«  wra.h  in.o  her  ear,  „n.,l  she  cri...     Why  d«, 
.he  corne  .o  her^  Ae  «ys.  pi.eously.    She  doesn'.  knot!!      ' 
mamma  know  ;  wha.ever  mamma  «.y^  d,,  mus.  do  of 
cou,«    ,Oh,  ye.,  ,he  lik«  him-we.l,  love»  him  d,en,  and     ' 
W.11  wa,.  for  him,  if  mamm.  wiU  le,  her,  .ver  and  Z^t 
h!!t^  -"  "«7  M"  •to-mor^.w  if  mamma  i.  willing  ju« 
«hejBM..    Bu.  ple««  don',  go  on  so  any  more;  i,  alwavs 
make.  her  head  ache,  and  Ae  i.  ,ilB„g  ,o\  anyih  ng  3 
Pl^«=  ev«yb«iy,  if  only  mamma  will^v.  her  leave 

Lauienc  goes  hon..  disspiri.ed,  «>re,  ytry  lov.«ck,  and 
«.t  down  indeed.    Qld  JMr.  Longworth  Jt.  .'^'^ 
welf,  anawiaie  he  laughs  le  pidea  his  boy.    H« 
h«.  quitego.  ove,  hi,  «.ger;  hi.  redio.  rap,  «a  L.^ 


%• 


ifeiMi6'^«ii'jwiriâ>'i. 


*  ( 


>  _*^ 


LpNGWORTWi  WyL, 


m 


pcirer  la^t.  ànd  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  buy  off  this  woman 
and  her  girl,  and  pack  thenb  back  where  they  came  from,  and 
cure  Laurence  of  his  boyish  foUy.  He  is  a  m^n  to  strike 
while  the  iron  is  bot,  in  business  and  out  of  it  He  rides 
into  town,  seeks  out  Mrs.  Longworth  the  very  next  day,  bas 
a  plaip",  curti  prosaic,  business-like  interview  withher,  per- 
fectly  civil,, quiet,  passionless.  .  , 

"  I  likè  the  lad,"  the  old  man  says,  his  hanas  cjàsped  ôvef 
his  cane,  his  chin  upon  them,  his  stem  old  eycTon  the  ladyîs 
discomfited  face;    "it  is  for  bis  sake  I  want  this  foolery  ' 
ended  and  doue  with.    He  is  my  heir,  as  you  know  ;  he  bas 
been  brought  up  like  a  kmg-s  son  ;  lefk  to  hunçelf,  he  is  ut. 
terly  unable  to  make  his  way  An  inch  in  the'world.  M  hav^s 
done  XX  on  purpose  ;  I  want  him  to  (^  solely  depenâept  upon 
me.     If  he  marries  your  ^aughter  l'U  tum  him  out  ;  a  dollar/ 
of  my-money  he  shall  nëyer  see.    Yo^  ki^ow  tae,  ina'âta.i 
Im  not  the  sort  to  bluster  ànd  swear,  ^d  comé  round  iiv  thé  - 
end  with  my  fortune  and  blessîng.    Jl'H  turn  hiiâ  attfift,  I 
^y-ril  take  my  sister-s  son,  little  Dexter,  in  his  place. 
Your  daughter  will  bave  a  fine,  bigh-toned,  thoroughly  edu- 
catcd  young  gentleman  for  a  husband,  and  you  wiU  bave  a 
beggar  for  a  son-in-law,    I  don't  tbink  that  wouW  ^it  vôur 
.  book,  ma'am.    But  the  boy.is  bothered  over  this  âffaiî-.I 
can  »ee  it-and  will  be  until  aU  is  ovèr/   Then  he-U  corne 

Tl'ïf  *"^^^^°''"8''-  Young  mt^  die,  and  wprms 
eat  theiû,  but  not  for  love.  Now,  Mrs.  Longworth,  bpw 
much  wiU  yoa  take,  ma^am,  and  go  ofiF  with  your  young'>lady, 
and  let  my  boy  see  her^no  more  ?  Tye  spent  mo^ic/ire^ 
on  him,  for  his  pleasureand  piïjfit,^p  to  thje  «fçsent  •  Vm 
leady  to  spend  a  trifle  more  aow.  Namfe  yL  pric«C  and 
tiy  and  be  reasonable."  )     f  «-«^  «na 

-  fiJI^'^J^r^''^'!^"  i«  outrageons,-  crfes  Wlédy^ > 
bought  and  sold  like  so  many  baies  ofcotton?».''^- 
^iilltttkhiiïtatmybusincw,  ma'am?    l'mnotincot 


■*^- 


•W'il 


lA        j 


'J 


I  s  > 


.1 


,.  l  ■ 


•u 


iS4 


LONGWORTW^  IDYL. 
ste'^n^  r  7"^  ^^^  *»»«  affecrions-never  mind  ^>l.«. 
^    bread  a^  butter  to  a  iciss  ^  a  drink  of  water     TW. 

a^to  Hinv?  For  you-^ou  arepoor^  undir^lL.  a,^ 
hâve  a  plea^  head  for  figures.  Give'  the  s^  a  nam^  miw 
and  then  rUx^ake  my  sUpulations."  *  "   ^ 

sum-^o''X'1l,!rî''  'H'""  '"  *^  '*^^'  ^"^  --^^^  the 
r^  ^^,  ^"^  ^*'"''  Longworth,  stiU  with  his  chin  on 
his  çâne,  chuckles  inaudible  admiration. 

J^^ly  Word,  ma'am,  you're  a  c6ol  hand,  and  a  élever  one  1 
m  b  round  pnce,  but  for  the  lad's  sake .     if  i  ^av  it  T 

rio:''  7  ""f  r  *"'  '""^  '"'  '^'  ''^^^  Laurence    i    ' 

-     t^„r.     ^    ^"^'  ^^'^'"'"^^  "°*^"«'  °^^«  «t^e  business 
transaction,  or  of  my  visit  lo  you  at  ail." 

"Hâve  no  fear,  sir  ;  I  am  not  so  proud  of  either  that  I 
am  hkely  toproclaim  them."  says  Mrs.  Longworth,  bitVer  y 
Thll?^      '  r''"-^'^  "°^  ^  creditable  affairlto  you 

at;^^:   ^'^'^  '7^''^  '^^  ^-^  ^-   Voi^re 

•'Thankyou,  sir,'' says  Mrs.  Longworth^  ' 

WmJl  M     "^  r"'"  """^  ^^'  *^  W»"y  Sheldon,  if 

WUly  Sheldon  wants  her,  and  as  quickly  as  may  be.    àe 
does  want  her,  doesn't  he  ?  "  /      •    ne 

.  /."u  iHcan. 

'  **  That  is  what  I  mean.    .And  she ,  " 

\     ;;^»»8  engaged  to  youx  nephew,  sir.  she  refosed  him." 

A.,  ""^^  °^  '^*'  engagement  being  removéd. 
^e«  is  no  reason  why  thèse  young  hearts  shouWn't  corné 
together."  says  old  Mr.  Longworth.  with  a  sneer. 
'  ing  dJsc"""""  -*.^--     •-       - 


iiik  à}J  •^:r-^;^"8worcn,  witn  a  sneer;  _J«  Nnth. 
^jr^  wdMnorOughly  cure  Lany  of  his  besotted  folly. 
Sheldons  prospects  are  good j  he  is  senior  d«rk  ia  «  ^ 


<-  ¥ 


■■■:  *te 


U. .,  m^irjtn-lSmstsjU^t:-  ï 


'■^f 


V  if-'- 


-»j*- 


>■ 


10NGW0RTH'>S  fDYL. 


^sk 


banking-house,  ind  wiU  be  junior  partner  before  long,  if  I 
choose.  to^^ye  him  a  push.  FU  give  him  that  push  when 
hes  your  daughter's  husband.  ^or  you,.ma'am,  l'il  give  you 
onchalf  the  sura  yoii  hâve  named.  when  you  hâve  turaed 
oufLaurence,  and  are  ready  to  go.  The  second  half  I  wiU 
hand  over  -the  4ay  you  are  mother-in-law  to  little  Willie 
bheldon.  m  give  you  my  bond  for  it  in  black  and  white  " 
Two  days  after.  standing  by  her  mother's  «dq^a^litUe  pale 
aivl  scared,  Laura  Longworth  gaye  Laurence  Longworth  his 
,  oismissal  and  his  diamond  ring.  • 

•       It  was  the  orily^hing  she  did  give  him  of  ail  his  gifts.   Al 
that  "portable  property"hl  gold  and  pèécious  stonellay 
snugly  upstairs.      It  cqst  her  a  greater  pa«g  to  part  with  the 
fine  so^tau-e  she  drew  oflf  her  finger  than  it  did  to  part  With 
the  gaUant  and  handsome  yçun^  lover,  who  stood  before  her 
.   palhd  with  pain,  but  taking  his  punishment  like  a  nian.    She 
had  inistaken  herself~she  a^red  most  for  WUly,  and  she 
nev^  could  consent  to  min  her  cousin  Laurence,    Thev 
mu^  part,  and-and  hère  was  his  ring,  and-and  WiUy 
wished  the  weddmg  to  take  place  speedily,  and  he  was  to 
folios  then.  to  Baymouth  iii  a  month,  and~and  they  were 
to  be  mamed  the  last  of  July.    Perhaps  Laura  hoped  that 
Laurence  ,n  a  transport  of  passion  would  flipgthat  diamond 
at  her.fee^--her  eyes  were  upon  it  ail  the  whU^,  ancl  never 
had  it  sparkled  so  temptingly;  bat  he  did  nothing  of  the 
sort;  he  picked  it  up  and  put  it  in  his  pocket  without  a 
wo^d.   There  was  no  appeal-he  did  not  t^r  to  appeal.   She 
ï^lT         ^^^  ^V  W"»^  Sheldon  most-that  settled 
even^thmg.    He  ,tood  white  and  sïlent,  his  b«»ws  knit.  hi, 
blue  eyes  stem,  âmazed,  coritemptuous,  ahd  then  he  took     ' 
.  his  hat,  and  bowed  to  both  ladies,  and  went  out  of  the  house 


coitie  tdan  tnâi* 


*tohi8uncle,mwotd8briefandfoir^;v.     :,,;,^^  _     \ 


.41 


S-, 


"m 


''^■'i 


%  i  ^:..iV.* 


■  -"  «(%',l^f 


156 


LONGWORTtrS  n>YJ^ 


"  Ifs  ail  over,  sir,"  he  said.  «She  ia  to  many  Will  Shd 
don.  ni  try  to  please  you  next  timc,  insteâd  of  myselfc 
Excuse  anything  I  may  hâve  said,  and  don't  let  tu  spcak  of 
it  again." 

But  he  grew  thin  as  a  shadow,  moodily  indiffèrent  toÀS^ 

things,  «lent,  pale.    Nothing coald arôuse  or  aœusehira^aU 

hw  old  pursuits  lost  their  savor,  books,  horses,  billiards  held 

no  charms,  his  apathy  grew  on  him  day  by  day.    As  the  fatal 

^    weddmg^y  drew  near,  his  gloom  and  dépression  became  so 

profound  that  his  uncle,gre»f  alanried.    The  boy  muât  go 

away— must  trf  veL     Tlfeuboleiy  and  love-sickness  was  te- 

coming  startliftg-th^  last  state  of  the  youthful  swain  was 

worse  than  the  first     Laurence  must  try  changé. 

«AU  right,  sir,  r^go,"  Laurence  answers,  wearily  ;  «one 
place  is  as  gbod  as  another.    l'il  try  New  York." 

ile  goes  to  New  York,  tod.New  York  does  him  good. 
after  a  fashion.    Npt  mentaUy  nor  morally,  perhaps,  for  he 
gets  into  a  la^er  reckless  set,  and  gaœbles  and  drtnks  much 
more  than  i^  good  for  htm,  but  it  certainly  helps  him  to  get 
over  his  Id^e  fever.    He  reads  Miss  Laura  Longworth's 
marnagfe  m  the  papers  one  July  mormiig,  stares  at  it  in  a 
stony  way  for  awhile,  then  throws  down  the  sheet,  and  laughs 
ih  the  diaboKcal  way  the  firjçt  murderer'does  his  cachinnation 
on  the  stage,  and  out-Herod's  Hero^  in  mad  diSàipation  for 
the  ensumg  week.     At  the  end  of  that  period  he  ieceives  a 
visit  from  Mrs.  Longworth,  which  sobers  him  more  effectua 
«lly  than  many  bottlesof  soda-water. 

,  "  1  heard  you  were  hère,  Laurence,"  she  says,  to  the  young 
^n,whoreceive8herwithArcticcoldness.  "I  hâve  corne 
from  Baymouth  on  purposc  to  see  you.  Now  that  Totty  it 
mwrfed"  (Laurence  grindsi  his  teeth).  "and  the  money 
paid  to  the  last  cent,  I  may  speak.  I  do  not  do  it  fof 
revenge/^   Oh,  the  vengefuL^Sfg  that  M^rrs  in  Mrs.  Long  ï 


wortii's  eyes  as  she  says 
10  sioful  afeeliog. 


Far  be  it  Àx)m  me  to  cherish 
tbiak  j^  00^'  to  know  Tùttj 


•?T? 


.,*  i-'-.'.U 


*' 


-#-'  "-'-^VX-Êf 


j-.j,^  -j'j  -  'ï  -^  v,-  ■• 


■"îiV*"V'*'?' 


LOmWORTWS  lùYL. 


157 


loved  jrou  best,  I.aury— I  may  tell  it  surely  now,  since  shc 
will  never  know-— and  nothing  would  hâve  made  tier  iive  you 
up  but  th^  fear  of  ruining  you  for  life,  I  am  a  poor Twroman, 
Laurence,  a  poor  hard-worlçing  widowr,  and  "need  I  shanje  to 
«i)  it,  I  havé  my  price.  f  Your  uncle  bought  me  ofiF,  and  but 
for  him  my  daughter  mèht  be  your  wifc  to-day  instead  of 
Sheldoft'8.'»\      ^      "       [H  '  7 

^^ISot  Héaven's.  sake  vjrtpp  I '•  the  young  feHbw  saya, 
hoarsely.  «  J  Wt  Stai^^is  1  Dpn't  tklk  of  her  if^ 
you  wani  me  to  keep  myl  aense».  What  is  thié  of  my 
uncle?"  . 

She  «ts,  viûdictive  triumph  lïiher  facfi,  and  tell*  Jiim  the 
story,  exaggerating  his  lincle's  par^  extenuating  her  own,  re- 
peating  every  sneer,  every  threat   ^ 

*M  say  again,"  she  concludes,  «but  for  thi»  money  whick 
poverty  alone  forcée  me  to  acccpt,  and  thé  dread  of  niining 
you,  Totty  would  be  your  bride,  no^  WiUy  Sheldon's,  at  this 
hour."  I  /  I 

Her  work  is  do^e  and  she  goes  Lway— done  aUnost  too 
well  she  is  afra^/as  she  looks  in  ybung  Uurence's  stony, 
&i«d.iace^»^parfÇjgr  But  he  says  litUe  or  nothing-^n  thèse 
dçadly  white  rages  of  his  he  alwayJ  becomes  dumb.  But 
that  night,  as  fast  as  steam  can  can-lhim,  he  is  on  his  way 
tô  his  Southern  home.  ]  ,. 

In  the  yellowr  blaze  of  an  Aiiguit  aftemoon,,  du«^ >nd 
travel-wom,  he  reaches  it...  Unann<ii»ced,  unexpected,rhe 
opensthp  door  of  his  uncle's  study  and  stands  befeifehïm. 
Mr.  Longwrorth,  sitting  at  his  desk  writing,  lookf  upuJ  eager  > 
and  glad  surprise  at  his  boy.      \  ..'^  '        % 

"Whall    I.arry,  ladl    So  soon?    WcU,  soon  or  hitc,' 
always  glad  to  see  you.    But,  what  is  the  matter,  boy?  yoii 
do  not  look  well." 

Trulyhédrdnot  Mis  cheekrwëre  hôîiow,  his  lips  i^re 
white,  dark  circles -<^ere  beneath  hfs  eyes,  and  in  those 
iteadfiut  eye«  a  fir»  diat  bodcd  no  good.    Physically   «t 


.^ 


%a*j 


^." 


■VT*. 


■^br    ,S     ^*.T*^'--,^^ 


J-r 


158 


LONGWORTiriS  IDYL. 


least,  his  fortWght  in  New  Yorthad  not  benefited  the  licir 
oi  the  Longijirorths. 

;'  You  arejbusy,  sir,"  is  his  answer,  in  an  pdd,  ^ïnstrained' 
voice  ;  "  I  yill  wait  until  you  hâve  finished." 

«My  wriring  need  never  be  finished;  I  was  answering 
your  last  letter,  my  boy.     You  asked  for  more  money-you 
spend  hke  a  prince,  Larry  ;  but  I  hâve  brought  you  up  like 
a  pnnce,  and  I  find  no  faulL     Hère  is  the  check,  you  see 
ready  signed."  * 

Laurence  takes  it,  loolçs  at  tîie  amount-a  large  one-  " 
then  looks  steadfastly  at  tl»e  old  man. 
^  "  Three  days  ago,^  sir.  Mrs.  Longworth  came  to  see  me  in 
Wew  York.     Her  daughter  was  safely  married,  her  price  was 
safely  paid,  she  had  nothing  to  fear.     She  came  and  told  me 
thewhole  story.     By  stealth  and  by  treachery  you  bought 
her,  you  c0mpelled  her  to  marry  her  daughter  to  Sheldon  • 
your  money  was  an  all-powerful  lever,  as  you  know  ;  even 
hearts  and  souIs  can  be  bought  and  paid  for  with  it.     But 
even  m^ey  cannot  do  ail  things— cannot  pay  for  every- 
thmg.     It.bought  Mrs.  Longworth~it  cannot  buy  me.     You 
hâve  done  me  many  and  great  servicesl-their  memory  has 
helped  me  to  bear  the  many  and  gréât  insults  you  hâve 
heaped  upon  me.    But  even  for  miUionaires  there  is  a  line— 
you  hâve  gone  beyond  it.     I  retum  you  your  check  and  bîd 
yougood-by.     Good-moming  !  " 

He  tears  the  slip  of  paper  deliberately  in  four  piec*:*,  lays 
them  on  the  table,  and  turns  to  wa.  The  old  man  starts 
from  his  chair  and  hoWs  ont  his  Vras.  "Laurence  I"  he 
cnes,  in  agony  ;  but  it  is  doubtfut  if  that  despairing  cry 
reache»  him,  for  the  door  has  closed  upon  him  and  he  is 
alreadygonei 

'■.  ■•  •        -      .  .  .  '.  ■  .-' 

Uurencp  Longworth  retumed  to  New  York,  and  began  at 


-4h*4«:g;„„i„g.  -He  was  tweriiy  iwo,  he  had  Soprofessïc^ 
fm  tfae  wbrld  was  aU  beforc  him  wheije,  to  choose.    It  was 


'tîs  <^'^i^S^l, 


•     1/ 


■-■i"'>î 


•;  f  "'>?ï*¥  ••-  '-i 


LONGWORTH'S  IDYL,  15g 

^mendously  up-hiU  wBrlc,  but  it  did  him  good.     He  dropped 
dissipation  of  every  kind,  and  forgot  Totty  Long^orth.     His 
classical  éducation,  his  Greek  and  Latin  hexameters,  did  not 
help  him  rouch  in  the  beginning  of  thir  hard,  single-fistcd 
fight  with  &te  ;  it  would  hâve  been  more  to  the  purpose  and 
infin^tely  more  reraunerative  if  bis.uncle  had  taught  him 
shoe-making.    Hc  floated  about  for  many  months  among  the 
flotsam  and  jetsam  of  the  great  army  of  the  Impectetfious  in 
a  large  city,  and  finally  drifted  kshore  on  the  Land  of  Litera- 
ture.^He  h*d  fratemized  in  the  days  of  his  princedom  ^th 
a  good  many  newspapèr  men-hehad  a  taste  for  that  sort  of 
people~and-th<ïy  got  him  work  now!.   And  having  got  it. 
Laurence  discbvered  that  he  had  found  his  vocàtion-jour- 
nalism  was  his  forte  and  destiny  forfife.     He  was  attached  to   ' 
the  çoips  of  a  daily  paper,  and  won  his  way  with  a  rapidity 
that  left  Ae  good  comrades  who  had  befriended  him  far 
.  Demnd.     He  had  acquired,  stenography  as  an  amusement 
long  ago-itstood  him  in  good  steadnow.     From  reportine 
LXT  t  '"^^^^^t '«"'^  *°  leader.writing  ;  it  was  found  he 
had  a  dashing,  slàshmg.  daring  gtyle,  with  a  strong  vein  of 
sarcasm  and  a  subtie  touch  of  humor.     He  could  dash  off 

handle  bnUiajilly  every  topic  he -undertook.,  «He  held  ex- 
haustive opinions  on  eveor  subjçc^t  uuder  the  sun,  ventilated 
those  opinions  freely,  and  was  prepared  to  fight  for  them,  to  ' 
slay  and  spare  not,  in  their  défense.  Promotion  folIo;ed 
rapidly  At  the  end  of  the  second  year  he  was  city  ediTo' 
with  a  fine  salary,  of  one  of  the  first  papers  of  ti  ^^y, 

bought  it.     It  was  a  promising  field.  and  his  one  great  ambi, 

TlZT^y  f,^^  ^^  "°!^^  »>^»er  and  wiser  by  an'deal 
^>e»8paper.    He  «aigaed  hftsTrosiii on,  took  Miles  O'Sumvm    - 

,î  ^T;^  '"^  '"'^'"^  ^"  ^^«"«"^^  "  for  good." 
„  .ff:  vySuUivan  was  one  of  the  journalistic  gentlemei 


*'^i^ 


L- 


\ 


i. 


Ilf*-^^ 


»    1 


f 


\ 


noM,  Md  ,  nch  acx.nt  brought  from  the  Reeks  of  Kerr»  lo 
«avortas  imexceptionable  Engliih.  «  *-en-y.  lo 

•P«*.bly  d««y  j  Ae  "pocm."  we«  Byrenic.  gl„„y,  «j 

P«t    n  b™,g  ,gr.ed  OD  lUl  hand^  however,  that  fictif 

Mu«  i.^  H  ;  k""  "^^  '"  "«"'  *"  '«"»«'.  VA  4a 

«•tere  and  carpmg  cnhc,  your  true  criric  being  notori«Z 
«e  man  « who  ha,  failed  in  littraeure  andart. °  ""^^^ 
Mrs.  Longworth,  with  the  money  that  had  been  h- 
^t.;-.  priée.  h«,  opened  a  board^g-house  in  h^att? 
town.  The  editor  of  the  Plu«ix  becatoe  one  of  her  boarf 
^    How  con,pletely.,he  love^dream  if  fonr  yea^  S 

;:ti^tt;eZ'^  T"^  '"""  4   «•  ^- '^™ 
ut-mii,  he  bore  tas  oncle  none,  now.    T*^se.fcur  reais  hsH 

been  a  hbe«i  educadon.  n.Ore^„able  by  <ar  SJT^  S^ 

h^  unr:^:i*r  ^tT^  ■""«■'  f?  ^i.  conducrt 

f„^rf^K~     .     T  '»^'*«'^  "«"gly.  tot  he  had  been 
fond  «rftam  and  good  to  Wm.    He  did  nigreatlyr^t  A^ 

iT'th^int^::»"^  «d  «.^  »d  .ri„n.phs.  for 
Nothing  wculd  erei  bave  indnced  him  to -rive  "    hi. 


■««mst  lus  nepheir,  had  i^kmted  his  rist^s  son,  F«u,k  D*, 


^K 


/■ 


^'' 


I: 


•'■•■?j 


X',^^^K 

1 

Ëw 

À 

^B 

c 

^V 

r 

H 

I 

B  ' 

a 

■ 

a 

■ 

o 

1 

t< 

1.  '. 

V 

1 

M 

i>OtfGWORTWS  IDYL. 

ter.  Mrs.  Dextér.  %  widow,  had  lived  in  Bostcm,  and  Lau 
rçnce  knew  th«  boy,  and  liked  him.  île  had  no  wish  to  où^ 
him  ;  hê  had  found  his  wo^k  in  life,  and  it  was  a  labor  of 
love.     No  olher  lovi^gaïufe  to  rival  it  ;    at  one-apd-thirty 


id  likely  to  remain  so.    He  had 
falling  in  love,  his  pen  aind  his 


Ix>ngworth  was  unn; 
neither  dme  nor  in 
inksta^d  were  his 

Two  yefOT  beforie 
»nd  muses,  Mrs.  SÎiel 


On  which  he  sits  aîid 

.  ■ ■:-- »  •"  widôwr's  weeds,  had  retumed  to 

the  maternai  roof.  She  had  no  children  ;  she  was  handsomer 
^  Uïan  eVer,  and  she  was  tolerably  well  doweredï  She  and  the 
dashmg  lover  of  her  youth  had  met  prosaically  enough  over 
the  buckwheats  and  boiled  eggs  of  breakfast,  and  he  had 
shaken  hands  with  her,  and  looked  into  the^lîght  blue  eyes. 
and  smiled  to  himself  as  he^recalled  that  dead"  and  neirly 
forgotten  summer  idyl.  What  a  consummate  yéung  aà  he 
lad  been  ;  what  conld  he  hâve  seen  in  this  big  wax  doll.  with 
the  fluffy  flaxen  haïr  and  china  eyes.  who  only  knew  how  to 

anyotherdc^?  The  iïiifiy  flaxen  hair^combed  back  ofF 
the  low,  mtellectual  forehead  now,  afi^Mp^od  and  widow- 
hood  had  expanded  her  œind  ;  she  had  proTounced  ideas  of 
ner  own  on  the  ^ubject  of  spring  bonnets  aitd  thé  trimmin* 
of  dresses^she  even  read  the  stories  in  one  or  two  Jadies' 
magazines.  Certainly  years  and  matrimony  had  developed 
Mrs.  Shçldon.  As  time  wore  on  a  new  idea  was  developed 
also.  a  vejy  decided  tendresse  for  the  handsome  and  talented 

of  ^ark,  he  delivered  lectures  that  were  lauded,  he  was  said 

W,n.am  Sheiaon's  heart,  came  something  that  thrillfd  at  the 

/:i;î;    !      "S^^^'^okedathimMonewhoawakeit 
^  î  ';*^  „   -^  The  pMit  WM  a  dream,  and  her  life  bcsna/ 


iJi 


■  rk'^T^ 


/ 


7^ 


I62 


DELICATE  GROVffD. 


Did  Longworth  observe  it?     He  eave  no  ^\ar'      tk 

Ha.  Lt  :i,  oit  re  ir  srLitr:f  :t' 


Longworth  jump»  up, 


A  clock  down-stairs  strikes  twelve 
ând  flings  away  the  ènd  of  his  cigar 

"Ayeardividesus,lovefromlove;-  \ 

Though  you  love  now.  though  I  loved  then, 

The  guif  ,s  4eep,  but  straight  enough  : 
Who  shall  recross^who  amonglei 

v-  Sliall  ascws  again  ?  " 

-'f        ■  ■■    .       .   "*"«i  ^  ■..-■■'■ 


î? 


'  %  - 


^ 


*> 


CHAPTER  XIi; 

#  »DELICATE   OROUND. 

'^^''^«"•r".?  ■'""'"^  '°  »r«kfast4.«  „„  J 
.mg.»e  finds  Ijjp.  Sheldon  before  him.  .^d  al...^ 

w.«dow,  m.k,.«  a  tiny  bouquet  fr„„  ^ong  fh.  ,««  „d 


-LÎV 


«•»      JJ^s-fi**-    ^   ,  *  \ 


/ 


DELICATE  GRÔUl^D 


\-i- 


163 


gemmums,  the  brilliant  sunshine  bathing  her  in  her  pretty 
.  white  wrapper,  pale  azuré  ribbons,  and  pale  fl«en  hair.  À 
.eor^r  pjcture  of  matured  beauty,  surely  pb#Long,vorth's 
first  thought  as  he  looks  at  her  is  :  "  What  an  enormous  debt 
of  gratitude  1  ov.e  my  uncle  for  that  day's  «rork  nine  years 

Slrel  -  ^"  ''^°^'''  ^"^""^  ^''''^^^  ^  """'*  ''^^^  ^^^»  '^ 
She  turns  quickly.  She  bas  learned  to  knov.  hirstep  from 
among  ail  thfe  others,  and  in  six  years  pf  marriage  she  had 
never  learned  to  distinguis^  her  husband's.  Something  akin 
to  a  flush  of  shame  passes  over  her  face 

sidë'^^-rirrT  '^'"^'"  ^'  ''''  «^"'^">''  «'^"^>"g  byher 
«de.        rhat  looks  suspiciously  like  a  button-hole  bouquet 
vvao  IS  to  be  the  happy  récipient  ?" 
• ,     '•  You,  if  you  care  to  hâve  it     Larrjr  !  "  slie  says  quickly. 
and  wuh  a  catch  in  her  breath,  «  I  want  you  tô  forget  last 
•night.      I  œust  hâve  been  mad  I  think  ;  I-I  let  my  feel- 

"There  is  no  explanatiorx  needed,  my  dear  child,"  Lonjr. 

tTe  7w.7^''' "'u"^*'" '^^^"" ^'^' '-^—  in '^^ 

tone.     (What  man  m  his  secret  heart  does  not  respect  the 

him  ?)     «  I  know  that  you  were  but  a  child  in  those  days^ 
I  know  that  m  maturer  years  you  regret  the  past  for  my  sake 

IfT     ^.f ^^°''"'^^'*«<^'»3^0"'-o™anly  self-abnegation 
would  «cnfice  yourself  to  atone.     I  understand  it  ail,  bu 
beheve  me,  I  never  regret  that  loss.     Now,  if  I  am  to  Lave 
that. bouquet  you  raust  pin  it  for  me." 

"You.  are  generous,"  she  says,  in  a  low  voix:e.  but  she 
bites  her  hps  as  she  says  it  with  cruel  force.  "  You  alwlys 
were  gênerons.  »  Trust  me,  1  shall  not  forgetit" 


.      ,       -      fe«-toncniakesxoiigwdrth  1661  d^^liTh^ 
Qinously,  but  at  that  «loraent  enters  unto  them  Mr.  Mil^ 
O  Sulhv,^.    Hc  takc.  in  the  «tuation-the  cloae  proximll^ 


WiSi&n'!  ,.     '-Si    '         '.  '  «x.ï''J/,    K 


.> 


;  -M-' 


1(54 


•i*. 


J-' 


DELICATE   GROVlfD. 


the  bouquet  thèWhed  cheeks  of  the  lady-and  makes  an 
instinctive  sèeu  bAc^J^war/i     tu  ^  «laKes  an 

hecanh^^lThy  "^"^  «^^^"^^  ^^^^ '-«-orth, 

"  Ar«  you  from  the  office,  O.  ?  »  he  calls.     «  What  took 
youthereatthishour?"  wnat  took 

the  office.  Sure  thaf  s  a  beautiful  little  posy  you've  eot  th^ 
morning,  chief.  Upon  my  word  ifs  the  iX  feUow  vn^ 
are  ;  te  f       .e  of  the  Jadies  wherev.r  you  gt'         "  ''" 

Totty,  quickly,  and  moving  away.  «  Ifs  Larry's  ..^^^^i 
thmk,  that  doeMt  He  asked  me  for  it  firs^iS  th^n^a! 
too  lazy  to  pin  it  iH.»  ^*^ 

'    thenL^'!,"!!-'- "  ^'''  '^'^  ^'^"'l"^''  *»d  h«  breakfast,  and 
bJldinr        "'""  '''"'  '"^  ^°^^"^"/!^  ''^^  ^^  "^ 

J1Îh"'T  '^'"l*'"'  ^'  P°""  '  "P«»  "«  «fc^'s  «  true  as 

Th^r  î^î^atr;  ^^-^"^<=-p'-nay  d:.:: 

<5h-w«    •     n  ^  y°""S  woman  that  sanie  Mrs 

f  s^h^ o^h^.^^  '^  ^  --?'  -^^^'  -  «-  -  ^e 

Dut  it  pours  ?    Djd  any  one  else  présent  you  with  a  cluster 

of  botanical  spécimens  this  morning  ?  »  *' 

«  Not  one.    lut  whose  acquaintance  doye  think  I  made 

JLZT^  Master  Lahy.  whUe  you  were  rolling  i"]^ 

rro^ve^dr'    ^«^^"-^    IfsmyopiLnfî 

«  ^ri  ^'^•"7,^»^'»0"elle  Reine  herself,  no  less.» 
"  Mademoiselle  Reine  P' 

roung  créature  she  i.,  with  a  voice  like  sugar  candT  a^d 
eycjflf  hwiiwiv  that  go  tliiough  ye^iite..^^-^^^-^g^— 
;But  where?"  crie.  Longwprth,  tbo  amaxed  to  let'hii 


■V 


'  v\ 


DELICATE   GROUND. 


165 


companion  hunt  ap  a  simile-"  «rhere,  for  heavet's  saké,  did 
vou  meet  hcr  and  sjgeak  to  her,  O'Surflvan  ?  You  say  you 
spoketoher?"  «^  î>ay  you 

"Ay,spoketoher,  ând  more^walked  home  with  her  to 
her  grandmother's  door,  and  got  *  sraile  at  parting.  "  Oh  !  by 
this  and  that,an  angel  couldn't  bea|,it!  It's  a  beautifui 
créature  she  is,  Larry,  with  ^o  eyes  like  sloes,  and  teeth 
like  raie  pearls,  and  a  laugh  like  the  music  of  the  sphères 
Sure  you  ail  said  Wie  the  other  one  was  the  beauty,  and  if 
she  goes  beyond  Ma'amseHe  Reine  it's  a  Venus  of  the  first 
water  she  must  be  surg  enough." 

•   O'SuUivan  pauses  in  his^ulogy.  for  his  chieftain  has  corne 

to  a  sta^d-stUl  in  the  miffie  of  the  street,  and  is  regarding 

.^himwith  menace  in  his  eye.  ^ 

«  WiU  you,  or  wiU  you  ndt,  tell  ny  where  you  met  Mtde. 

œoiselle  Landelle,  and  how  you  came  to  escort  her  home  ?  " 

ne  demands  with  ominous  calm. 

"  Oh  1  I  hâve  no  objection  io-life.  On  fine  mornings  like 
IknorrV'  '^''''^^^  "  I^ot^bed-clothes.  like  son 'e  ml 
L  hTk!  '    r'^l  *"**  *"""^  earl3,church  over  there  on 

^«tLÏT  'k''?'  ^"-«"g^^ong  the,old  women's 

petticoats.  I  espies  the  httle  darling  of  the  world  praying 

away  like  the  angel  tl^at  she  ^"  ^,  ^  ^^ 

"  Well  ?"  says  Longworth.     He  is  surprised  rather  for  a 

o  chu^^r.n     *  K     "'^  ^'  *°  «''  ""^  a#day<law«.  and  gc 
Lt         to  say  her  prayers.     "  Are  you  at  liberty  to  L 

vouknrT'""^  '''^^""  ""^'"^^^  ^  chun:h.  whether 
you  know  her  or  not,  O'SuIlivan  ?" 


" "- '   o..vpa,  ligimng  roy  |Mpe 

elbow     rtv^/^r^f^?^™^'  when  î  hears  a  voicTat  my 
hdur  the  .crv^ce.  are  on  Sunday?'    «y.  thi.  litii  vok!!     V 


:,f  1 1 ,, 


\ 


«4 


M 


r<wK4-£i,'  i 


i66 


-^•■•-- 


DEUCATE   GROUND. 


fuîl  !'f        "^'  T?  ^''  '"'"  ""'"  ^Sure,  as  light  and  gracA^ 
fui  as  a  fairy  s,  and  her  smiling  face,  and  her  beaiuiful  black' 

evcl"^!!  T^'""";   ^ï"-^^^'^-       'Exquisite  brown  blessed 
Si  T^     1  ^"^g^^^^^f  ys-     But  procecd  «ly  noble  friend 
-  thy  taie  interests  me.'* 

«  "  ^  v'^f  u  ^^'  '"  *  ""ï""'^'"  continues  the  O'Sullivan  - 
sure  if  I  heàrd  her  and  her  siste^described  once.  I  hâve  a 
hundred  times.     ^At  seven,  and  nine,  and  half-past  ten 

3hV'^''f  "^  °^'"^^'"'  ""^  taking  out^y  pipe 
anJhalf-past  thre^  m  the  afternoon.'  «  Thank  ye,  ir/say  ' 
she  sm,l.ng  and  dimpling.  and  looking  hke  the  goddess  F  Ja 
or  the  fau:  Aurora.  '  Hâve  you  a  good  choir  ?  because  ^if 
Mansuur  le  Curé  wiU  ^rmit  it.  I  would  like  to  join.'  We 
were^walking  along  as  sociably  as  life  by  this  tiaie,  and  may 

''  W^,  î.  :^  ''""""^  ^'^  ^°^  ^^^  thoughtfulness  !  •• 

Well?"  says  Longworth. 

He  is  striding  along  with  his  han'ds  in  his  coat  poèkets. 
trying  to  reahze  in  his  mind's  eye  the  frigid.  the  haughty,  the 
upMed,  the  sconjfnl  Mlle.  Reine  tripping  along  fn  I;cTal 
chat  "  srtiihng  and  du«pling,"  by  the  O'Sullivan's  side. 

Well,  then,  I  took  her  at  her  word,  and  there  we  walked 
along  ogether  as  tf  we  had  'grown  in  beauty  side  by  sidc. 
and  fil^done  house  with  glee'  ail  our  lives.  '  I  thini^'  ^s 
I,  hatJ/./.C«r^_3ure  his  name's  Father  McGrath,  but 
hat  s  no  matter-.  will  be  delighted.  I  know  him  well,'  sa^ 
I.       1 11  3pake  to  h„„,  .f  ye  like,  or  l'il  introduce  ye,  which 

Vt  el     "•     '?  P""'  ^"'  '^^P^^  '^^'"  "-  to  hâve  ye;  for 
laiTJr     /oh'  '   T  ""^'''  ™^^^-°i^»e.'     With  that  she 

J::^V^1^".^^  ■"-' ^°  y^'^^y^ ^^-  'Who w^ 


««om,e?    o.  .naybe,'  she  say»,  looking  at„,edou^tf„„„ 
ye  wcre  at  grandrdamma's  the  other  night,  and '  «  J 


•îsilifkiUàf&ïîti'- 


\-\ 


>  n"-»^''-*,'y 


\ 


■'Y 


DELICATE  G^qVND. 


167 

,         .  ,  \  l       '       ■      ■''^^ 

tW^nt,  miss,  I  says;  *me  and  yoik  gràn^mamma    laven't 
,  the  pleasure  of  each  other's  acquaintHiïce,Wt  I  knpw  her  * 
well  by  sight,  and  a  mighty  fine  old  lady,she)is-    My  name-s 
O'SuIîiyan,  mademoiselle,  at  your  service;'  I  says.     *  I  ^oard 
at  Mrs.  Lon^worth's,  over  there  beyond,  and  l'm  assistant 
editor.of  the  /%tfj/«Mf— niaybe  ye've  se^  it>     But  sure  if 
ye  haven't  ye   know   Mr.    Longworth,   the   editor-inlhief.' 
She  was  snoiling-eyes,  lips,  dimples,  and  ail— a  minute  be- 
fope,  but,  by  the  virtue  pf  my  oath,  Larry,  every  dimple  van- 
ished  as  soon  as  I  mentioned  ypur  namé.     'Oh,'  she  says, 
undef  her  breath,  ' yes,  I  know.'    And  she  shiftéd  her  ground 
m -the  twinkling  of  a  bed-ppst,  and  talked  pf  the  chpir,  and 
the  congrégation,  and  the  church,  and  M.  /g  Curé,  as  she 
calls  poor  Father  McGrath,  until  we  got  tp  her  grandmpth- 
er*s  gâte."  , 

"  And  then  ?  "  says  Mr.  Lpngwprth.  \        , 

"  And  then  she  brightens  up  beautifully,  and  Idjpks  iup  at 

me,  ail,  the  dimples  and  smiles  in  full  play  again  ;  ànd  may  I 

never,  if  she  hasn't  the.  handspmest  pair  pf  eyes-^own,  pr 

*<black,  or,whatever  it  pleases  ye  tp  call  them-îhat  ever 

boreda  hple  thrpugh  a  man's  heart.     *l  can't  a^e  in  ' 

she  sayé,  '  as  ypu  telL^ip^,  grandmamma  has  not  th^asure 

of  ypiïr  acquaintanciflïut  I  am  sure  we  will  meeV  again 

Thank  you  very  much  for  ajf  your  information,' and  \l  shall 

be  glad  tp  know  Monsieur  l^uré:    And  with  thît  she 

makes  me  an  élégant  lit^  co^sy,  and  trips jwpray  as  Uce- 

fui  as  ye.please.     If  ies  true  what  theAe  sJj^,  thaTVou 

caii  hâve  your  pick  and  choice,  Larry- ies  ypu  thaï  PugV  to 

be  the  happy  man  this  day.    But  ifs  ever  ahd  alwaysUhe 

way-ifs  tp  ypu  and  the  likes  pf  ypu-men  with  he'art^  of 

icç  and  heads  pf  granité— that  such  prizes  fall,  while-— "     ' 

"  Oh^  stpy  that  rpt,  O'Sullivan  1  "  .  cyts  in  Lpngwprth,  with  ' 


"M 


■  Ma 


£ 


_;5iij:_j>iiiiiaiiai  -UupHllcn€9i    ■  '   AUir~uefore  WC    DHTL  ^"WÎnP  ' 

this  :  Ypu  are  about  the  cheekiest  beggar  it  has  ever  been  mt 
good  fortune  to  meet.    The  effrpnteor  pf  cpplly  doing  ^01 


W 
V 


'■M 


.■■^' 


'C  V' 


<f  V, 


/ 


i68 


1  DELlCÀrk  GHOCwll 


.  ( 


'  ànty  for  l^mg^dy  you  .«1  ,  Jl  '       W''^-  ^^" 
^trodi«:«l'to  her  ySéâL  is^K  ^^ ^%^^o«  ^  m- 


ma  not  i-h-  k^...^..  ■>..       .   .  " 


:jf' 


ë^ 


■i  * 


V     4 


i\ 


*nd  not  the  beauty?  »  aud  then  tal«. 
<  that  ^ijsue».  there  is  a  laress  nf  ««.  u  • 

•   «d  d.sa«r«,bie,„d  i„,e„«^î»^«^^'^■^1.•^'""«' 
e'«ra  éditions  and  «u'mg,.<,V  .     °r!»""fc  «wllhere  were 

- .  ^      Miss  Hariott,  arii  fi„ds  ther.  *-T     *       ""^P*  '"  »P<>" 

*|         %h.  i»  U,e  ii,«e  g.in":„d"''lir:^Jr''à  '"'  '"■ 

M  he  ai-prtaches,  what  he  ha,  (h™?^,       ^  «.'<>  'hink    ■ 

^?P,H§tcAnttonyJù^aw^^ 


--ti'S*~V-, 


•»- 


.1. 


/.-■■■ 


V 


n- 


■"ps>^!*,i    ■•■•■ 


QRUCATE  CR&UND. 


169 


K«nd  frail  flower  faces  that  men  hâve  gone  m^,  and  worlda 

/  hâve  been  Iost«nd  won."  * 

She  is  lymg  back,  languid  in  the  sultty  beat,  dressed  in 
white,  lier  broad-brimmed  sun-hat  in  her  lap,  he^  gold  rgd 
hair  falling  lobsely  oyer  her  shoulders  as  usuaL  Young  Dex" 
le»i«  lying  on  the  grass  at  her  feet ;  ail  is  speechless  adora- 

"^8ft  in  his  uplifted  eyes.     He  scowls  darkly  as  Lpngworth 
draws  near.     Close  bysits  Miss  Hariott  fanning  heiielf;     Ip. 

.  «de  in  the  dusky  parlor  Mlle.  Reine  is  playing  for  thein  Soft- 

Uy;  ihrough  the  pàrted  curtains  te  cân  catch  à  glimpse  ol  a 
'black  gauzy  dress,  of  a  stately   little  dark  head,  ànd  somè 
long  letoon-colored  buds  in  hair  and  belt..^ 

*«  Will  somebody  introduce  me  to  this  gentleman  ?"  in- 
quires  Miss  HariotL  "Nine  whole  days  hâve  elapsed  since 
thèse  eyes  beheîd  him.  Wljpj^an  lie  expected  to  keep  a 
friend  in  remen^brance  ail  that  time?" 

"Who,  indeed?"  says' lpngworth,  "especially  when  the 
'<who' isàlady.  Mademoiselle  Marie,  I  salute  you.  Fi:ank, 
whence  this  moody  frown  ?  May  I  seat  myself  beside  you, 
Miss  Hariott  ?    The  grass  is  danip,  the  de^s  are  falling,  else    " 

,  would  I  Ih-etii  myseff  as  my  yoimg  kinsman  is  doing,  at  beau- 
■  ty's  feet,  defy  rheumatiCs,  and  sun  myself  in  its  smiles,     Mr««  4* 
Windsor  is  well,  I  hope,  Miss  Landelle ?" 

"I  think  grandmamma  must  always  be.well,"    respondi  > 
Mll«.  Marie,  with,one  of  her  faint,  sweet  siàiles— she  rarely 

^^^^  wJS^  ^°^lftl^ J  ^""^^  ^""^K'"®  Herweak  or  ailing. 
She|^(||ii^  s#l^hi^as  Miss  Hariott  does,  why  yOu 
oevï*  come  to  see  |^ jfflPliiie."  . 
4"  "  Tremei^o^sly  busy,"  says  I,ongworth  ;  «  of  Ml  ij^erciless 
tyrants  commend  me  t6  th«  râding  pub%  n^en^a  popular 
trial  is  goii^  oij^  "-f  / 

'' How  goes  the  triai,  Lpngw6rth?''itquire8Fnlnk.    Heii 


tftrftsted,  but^^Boi 


f 


tiK)t  t<^4h»pm-^- Jgèndînr 
iuppoself"  ^*'      .4r»  =^    ' 

't  very  Well  find  hec  anvthinff  A 


-♦^Tiri^iri!^ 


i»er  guil^,^  I  suppose 

!I!>*le"''  ^««y  «^H  find  h?Jr  *m^^  ^c»  «ihce  half-a-  ' 


•>    ■■  ,«»,■  -r. 


■  Mi 


>!^l 


'■•      •.••v.^>J:i!j^7t"» 


i':-J 


V 

J>ELICATE  GXOUNû, 


■îrû' "*"«"?"'  ''"«rine,   Laurence  ••  .,  '     ...        ' 

«le  appears  half  daz^d      r         V 
,  :-.  Miss  Hariott    Ttelto!  1°.   "  ^°''  "'°»''  «°  '<>  «. 

■        fafaine  h^r^r W';:'"^"-^'"'  ^«"Z"  exclaù»,  Marie 

^^^^'S:t:^x'r--^-"s- 

"«  «  the  wi„d„„.        ^     *''  »"<*">«.  'emon^olUd  bud. 
"Why  not?""he 
•      R"ne.     Miss'Hariottvisits:!^*"""'"»    Mademoiselle 

■      ;--.n.s  présence,  a  wol";  tird"'  ""'  °"^  *'"'  "«^  «    * 
y°"  go,  Miss  Hestef /'  I  can  f  J      *"'  ^'""8'»™-     Wiù 

«"'  ;  -there  -is  something  St  ""^  """»''  »  «"'»  S  '  ' 

"ffacing  a,™,,rderess.   X'e  i^T"  '"  "^  '""^ 
chantable  ^™a„,  as  Longtol  k„  '   *''''"«'"^  ««d  and 

Bfake  „i„  Hâve  fo„„d  a  c^^teX:;"  *'/;<'"  «"'  ««« 

."  What  nice,  enlivfning  sublctstl    "•«/"'"A 
"■«Frank,  ironically;  "forade^f:'  ^*T"'*'™Jt»«'««."' 
mend  m.  ,o  .he  editor  of  he  ^f-      f  "  '"^  '*'»«'.  «"nv 
<»».  .o  o„r  picnic.  Ma-lenliselte       r"""'  ^"^'  ^ 
»y  very  boisterous  degr^  Ôf  1.!!"       '^ ''"'' 'P'"«  "« '» 
fcead^nd.bloody-ho^^,^,"^^";  h^  'P'=«4«.  «w-  ,  s 


è> 


dmlicate\  ground. 


"  Anythinj;  in  Baymouth  without  Mr.  Longworth  would  be 
the  play  of  Hamlet  with  the  part  of  Hamlet  left  oùt." 

"  Consider  yéurself  inviter  then,  Mr.  Longworth,"  says 
Fiank,  gravely,  to  an  exclusîire  and  recherche  picnic  on  the 
jiiorning  of  Tuesday,  the  eleirenth  instant,  weather  permit- 
ting,  on.Fishhawk  Island.  The  fast  mailing  and  commbdious 
yoiing  steamer  "  Father  of  his  country  "  will  be  at  Stubb's 
wharf,  precisely  at  h^lf-past  nSne,  ante-nieridian.  The  \  celé- 
brated  string  band  of  Baymouth  is  engaged  for  the  occasion, 
and  every  one  this  side  of  foJty  can  trip  his  or  her  ten  light 
fantastic  toes,  from  that  hour  till  eight  in  the  evening.  Prép- 
arations are  already  proceedlng  on  a  scale  of  unpreqedented 
magnificence,  and  ail  the  éli|be,  the  beauty,  and  bravery,  |^ 
skimmings  of  the  Cream  of  sbciety,  are  expected  to  grâce  tTC 
^  festival.  To  none  of  thèse  dlasses,  I  âm  well  aware,  can  you, 
^ir,  put  forth  the  slightest  ckSni,  but  at  the  gracious^solicitation 
df  Miss  Marie  Landelle,  l/  sole  proprietor  and  getter  up,  do, 
by  thèse  présents  invite  y(^u."  ,     • 

"Are  you  going,  Miss  Hariott?"  says  Longworth,  "be- 
cause  if  you  are  not " 

"I  am  going,  Larry,  ?ind  will  protect  you,  or  peri^vith 
you,  from  the  sarcasms  of  this  ruthless  boy.  Hâve  you 
asked  Mrs.  Windsor,  Frank  ?  "       5 

"Even  that  daring  deed,  madarpe,  hâve  I  done,  i  -«« 
she's  accepted,  too.  You  could  Uve  knocked  me  dow^- 
ye^n^  dashed  my  br^ns  out  wîth  a  feather,  when  she  said 
yes.  If  there's  a  breeze,  and  there  is  likely  to  be  one  àt 
that  hour,  there's  sure  to  be  a  comfortable  short  çhop  in  the 
channelV'  says  Fmnfe  with  a  deraoniac  chuckle.  *•  Fancy 
Mrs. jHpisor  in  a  short  chop  !  Fancy  Semiramis,  or  Cleo- 
pa,tfi^Prthe  Queen  cff  Sheba  sea-sick  1"       t; 

1  afraid  you  ^e  cruelly  maliciouS,  Monsieur  Frank," 

Ji^ M-^IUr- — T! _™J. J^- : • . . . „ 


-says  Mancr—^Mr.  I|OBgworth,-do-yon- désert  us  glready^î 

**ifc»9t>  I  regret  toisay;'    May  l  charge  you  with  my  re- 
gard^  Mrs.  Wiçtdwr,  Mi»»  t|ndeU«— I  sh^l  »pt  hâve  ao 


y' 


■*>-^if; 

Vfff»^ 

,•»  ■-7>'<'%^ 

• 

» 

•k^' 


^^/CAri  GJfocWlK 


% 


T     t- 


^ .  interest  of  ^^!\  ^°°^  ^^^  the  date  i„  ../  k     3*^ 
f    »re  perte  tjo,"'^"'"  '""''  '^^°»  can  Héb    t  ^\"*^^«'-"5 

^   '   ,î^" ''«'•'•ors.     You  don't  U^owT    '"'"'  ""^  *'"«  a»d  Lp 
"     "  '«  «-y  conviction  that  ^e^^^^^^^^  ^•-  ^andelie/but 

^ther  commit  a  murder  himsetf  Z     ^  ^^•'>'  P^Per  ^^uld 
;^P*»pos  of  neH^suaper  men    p         "  "°^  ''^^e  one  to  reoort 

''fc  o^uiiij  r  "*i^  ^'-  -«^ed  that  Prince;;^  ^ 

faint%ht     ^/r\^""  *^"«  'ooks  dark  and  l   k^'"'''  *' 
IBl"-    "    Good-nie^h*   Xyf-j        .  ""  somber  in  thm  > 

.  Shel)^  and  wh?„  h.       ?°'''"^  ^^'°«-" 
piano.  "*  '«  fa»>Iy  ffone    r«H 

^nesistersàndMr  %.  »     .  i  ^ 

"?-  -ci  taken  te^^efS^^  F"'  ^^^  «f  the  afte^        v 
°^clreaniy^^„.^w^^  Frank  Jies  inf'" 

can  reclinel^  *u^       '  W  night  is  warm  o«j  J^"  »  «>rt 


in  love   M       ?"'•'• 'o  b"». 

'O'SulIivan,"  savs  TnK3^   *^  ««    , .  = 

''WW  t'mes  hâve  you  ,.^^  »oa«l>ili(y  on  the  stoou  "k 


'% 


■^      'e  did  iKelI  to  tell  n^ 


1 


W'^- 


DELIC4TE  GROVND: 


W 


Sullivan,  lying  back  ia  his  chair,  laughs  lopg 


"-*. 

/ 


ihe  had  a  voice  of  her  6wn,  chief.     l've  heard  Fatti  when 

she  was  in  New  York,  and  Nilsson,  and  Kellogg " 

"That  will  do,"  Longworth  inteirupts,  "J,  also,  hâve 
h^rd  thosc  lacKes,  and  I  hâve  heard  Mlle.  R^iné.  l'il  go 
with  yon  to  church  to-niorrow,  O,  if  you'like." 

»  Will  ye,  faith  !  "„  says  O'SuUivan  with  'a  griq.    "^"  WcU» 

■  tnaybe  there's  hope  fçr  ye*-there's  pardon;  they  tfeU  us,  for 

the  repentanf  reprobÉe  ei^rly  and  lâte.    There's  not  music 

at  ail  the  services — if  ye  would  rather  corne  early — and  the 

choir  and- thé  drgan  are  distràcting  to  some  people  at  their 

°    prayers-- — "  '  ■'- 

^    "Lafry  !  Larry  l"  shriek's  a  discordant  Voice  ^bove  them, 

"iyou're  a  fool,  Larry!  afool!  a'fooll  àfooll" 

'  "  Cbnfound  your  croaking,"  says  Longwprth,  with  a  scowl 

]*^  at  P0lly  j  "  that  bird  will  goad  me  into  wringing  her'neck 

some  day."      L 

But  Mr.  O'Si 

«I  loudly. 
'  Upon  me  conscience,  th-  e  never  was  anythîng  more 
\'aph>pos,"  he  says  ;  "  that  parrot  has  the  wisdom  of  a  Chris- 
tian." 

(\  Mr.  Longworth  goes  to  church  on  Sunday  with  hts  sub, 

and  listens  to  a  voice  fresh  and  sweet,  and  dH^n  a  sky- 

^  lark's  soaring  up  in  the  choir.     If  he  listen|^Hialf  as 

niuch  attention  to  the  sermon,  there  can  befpMôubt  he 

goes  home  benefited.     There  is  appropriate  matter  in  everj 

^jvord,  and  the  text  is  :  "  For  the  love  of  thy  neighbor  worketh 

"no  evil— Love  therefore  is  the  fulfiUing  of  the  law."     In  the 

eVçning  he  goes  to  Miss  Hariotf  s,  and  is  neither  surprised 

nor  aimoyed  to  find  Mlle.  Reihe  there  before  h'jn.     Her 

présence  does  not  interfère  with  their  fàt^AXy  Ute-à-tUe^  for 

she  goes  inside  and  sings  soft  French  and  Latin  hymns,  set 

-^  to  jweet  M^Mrtian  md^^^^  thcyjjojheir  falking  un. 

^turbed,  out  among  the  roses.     Jt  is  the  tiine  of  roses,  this 

%rcly  Junc  wcather  j;J^«||  ba«  #dora«d  herwlf  with  wlvte 


Mi  i 


«%5"; 


'•V>yj.-îf'#?9^5^^P 


/;:■ 


,k 


'74 


i>^LlCATB  CROOI^D, 


"w  /ou  no  more  wi^i.  .t 

*«y  forge.  ,0  ^^  "f  *«  ).s.e„er^  »„<,  ,„  jj^P-;*» 

•  1  ne  day  of  the  r»;    • 

«"«oa.  p„„d,,,  „„        «  f™™  h"  dock.     Flag,  and  streaL, 

deUç.    Mr.  Lo„g„„,h  ^^*J  "°"  ''•°'*'"'  M"ie  Lai 
•  "BilIBoirImecomeluJi. 


T_  . —  y  tac  road.  f«ifc-  ^-„,  ^^ 


;j^   ■  «' 


^ 


'7''fh''ji  "^^  ' 


..:.-'>^ 


DELICATE  GROUND^. 


»-*' 


17S 


"It  is  one  of  I<arry'8  nonsensical  days,"  sayâ  Miss  Hariott 
in  a  GQmpàssionate  and  explanatory  tone  to  Frank.  -  *'  You 
need  not  be  alarmed.  Wild  horses  could  not  df aw  a  rational 
Word  from  him,  but  he  is  quite  harmiess  in  thèse  pat  Kysins 
I  am  used  to  him,  and  know  how  to  manage  hiîn." 

"  He  does  not  forget  bis  charnel-house  principles,  though, 
evçn  in  the  ternporary  aberration,^r  his  intellect,"  returns 
Dexter»  with  a  look  of  disgust.  "  '^uddenly  launched  into 
eter^ityl'  indeed  !  Këep  him  tu  yoSrself,  M||s  Hariott,  if 
yOu  can  ;  idiocy  is.sometimes  catching,  and  he  may  fpghten 
tjic;ladies;' . 

Mr.  O'^Wivan  and  Mlle.  Reine,^  on  two  camp-stools,  are 
chatting  âocialiy  and  cheerfuUy,  as  may  be  inferred  from  th« 
giîy  laughtèi;  of  the  young  lady.  She  has  fraternized  with  the 
descendant  of  Ihe  Irish  kings  in  a  wonderful  way.  Miss 
JLandelIe  ÎJb-bif  coui^,  surrounded  by  a  dozen  'C^''more 
adorers.  Mesda^mes  Windsor  and  Longworth,  in  two  arm- 
diairs,  sit  and  converse,  and  the  former  làdy  is  eyerything 
that  is  gracions  and  coiidescending,  an  empress  with  the  im- 
perial  purples  and  tiai^  kud  «iside.  And  the  band  plays,  aiid 
thé  bây  glitteft,  and  "  Youth  is  at  the  prow,  and  pleastire  at 
the  helm," jSitid  it  fe  a  day  loilg.to  be  remembered  in  the  pic- 
nician  annals  of  Ba^mo'uth.  ^^ 

An.  hour  aiid  a  half ,brings  theoi  to  Fishhawk  Island.  It  is 
oot  a  pretty  name^but  tW  island  is  a  pretty  place— large, 
tree-shaded,  with  dîni»:greén  Woodlands^  and  long,  white, 
glistening  beach,  ".fcff  whispering  lovers  made."  There  is 
a  light^bouse,  hf%m  coetajpe— one  only— the  light-hcuse- 
keeper's;  and  thUi^^pjfokes  things  ro.irtarftiç.  It  is  a  tiny  eut- 
^e,  nestling  under  àî^  «rm  of  the*  light-house  ;  apd  thè* 
ke'eper  hiniself,  a  grin»,  Robinson  Crusoe  «bit  of^  man^ 
stands  watching  thèse  airy  riftâstcfe»  land  with  dreamy  and 


^■-7 


K.' 


^   "  An  agreeaiite  place  tô  corne  and  be  a  hermit,"  says  a 
ê  voice  in  Reine's  ear  ;  "  eve«y  iriduccîinent  offered-~perpet> 


-m 


i.  '  ' 


A 


■^k- 
»,?' 


>..    -. 


ft-'i.' 


■•?♦';-■  ï-T,;'.!'^-.'  ^'.TT'p:!^ 


J76  „  ■ 

*viJi  you  not  Kke  f/^ 
^^y'^^n,  monsieur"  Ti  •  * 


€; 


»"«"eWSB 


i- 


"■" *X- 


•TJt).. 


,}-.-' 


DBUC4TE  GRQVNJX. 


m 


« 


aaleep  before  hia  flfç,  and  some  fated  vessel  drivipg  on  ard 
on  to  b«r  dooin.  '"^< 

.  She  goes  thr(%h  the  light-house  with  Longwprth  and  Kob- 
inscn  Crusoe,  up,  np  the  spiral  stairs  to  the  very  top,  where 
the  big  lamp  sits  Uke  a  cherub  "  up  aloft,"  and  the  breeze 
nearly  telirs  the  coquettish  little  bat  off  her  head.  Then 
down,  and  through  the  tiny  three-rooraed  cottage,  âll  at  sixes 
and  sevcns,  speaking  ^athetically  in  every  dusty  chair,  in 
cvcry  untidy  household  god,  of  the  abject  créature  M^ 
BÏnks  to,  when  he  tries  housekeeping  alonei  ."  *,* 

"  You  ought  to  hâve  a  wife,  my  friend,"  suggests  Mr,  long- 
worA,  "to  put  things  5traigh||tand  keep  you  cohîp^ny  on 
l^owling  winter  nights."  ,         ./ 

.,     "Wa-a-1,"  drawls  doubtfuUy  the  philosopher,  *<I  keinder - 
f  don'^  know.     Marryin',  tp  my  mind,  is  sutHin'  Hke  dyin'— * 

i'?  "»a»  knows  whar  he  is,  but  he,don't  know  whar  he'S,  goin*  to. 
I  ad^yer  did  sot  much  store  by  wimmin  Yolks  even  when  I  was 
a  young  chap,  an^>'taint  no  use  tryin'  'speriments  at  my  time 

"  '  o'  Wni,     1  guess  ru  suffer  Vighf  on  as  I  be:" 

%1Riç|ne  laughs — her  coldness  nielts  in  spite  of  her-r-she  hâs 
never  been  in  so  gracious  a  mood  witl^'her  chotfén  enemy  be- 
fore/  He  takes  advantagp  of  it  and  show»  her  ail  «  the .  pretty 
lookoutj,  and  miniatore  caves,  ^  tiny  inlets,  and  gUmpses 
of  green  woodland  where  the  sop^  of  the  sea  s^ea|§  slumber- 

•  ously,  and  the  strong  sait  wind  i»iwingled  with  thé  sçent^'of 
wild  roses.  Hc  gathers  her  sonie  fcms,  and  makes  thie^ 
,ànd  the  wild  roses  into  a  bowquet,  and  in  doing  it  tears  fel 
l^4.,1pUi  «ispiky  ^uncbr^SL  long  tearfroiï»  whieh  the^blood 


•J..-    . 


r' 


— »- 


».     «Oh  1"  Reine «âya^îindttirns^e.      •  *.    •        Vif 

.'îa,  don't  Jipt  to  stain my b<wqMc?twiA  blood-that  wonll»^^^^ 
-bf  an  wil  oSTegi"  he  sayç,    *'  WlU  y^oJÉndlv  wîpc.  it  off  bo- 
— ^fare  it4ropg  op  ^he  ieina^r  ^  ^^   - 


/ 


'^ 


i**-: 


t.- 


m 


,0  * 
i.  ■ 

t. 


He  draws  out  his  haridk^chief,  iind  îâie^béys  ip  ail  good 
,  •  ^  m^^  i  jçit  JUpngworth^  eves  are  ^lug^ng  as  ho  wfttcbeaJi^ 


1^ 


'^»^ 


^: 


mr  It-i 


uJ. 


.  *  A 


m 


';8 


OMhrCATE^ 


"•yy^ry  humble  flo™,  off^""!!!^?.  ""  *'  ''"^^  '<>  "^ep, 

_She  hésitâtes  a  moment,  bitesher  lin     J,^       • 

They  pas,  o«t  of  the  sylva^  twIliS'ét    "''  "■"  ^"^'P^- 

■»'*t  of  the  merry-makers.         ^         *'  """^K^  a-d  the 

dangerous  """«s-foohsh  to  mTke  and\  T"  "'•'""'■^'^  "» 
•ha^l  fotgive  me  yet  for  ref„si„Tt„     k    ^'^  '"  '"'^P'    Y»- 
Th«  day  i.  a  perfect  d^y  2,  r°''  ^O"  °f  ^"r  fortune.» 
d.„„er  is  good,  ftechampt^i  T"'""  "'?'.  '"'"'^-     The    ' 
Wy  not  beenfcgotten,  Aeïelfe  ar    ""^ ''"""^^?"<'  forks 
masses  the  pies  are  „o  sqÛash  The.  '    "^^  "*  "»'«'''» 
I"«„ebeings,hocareforZcinl     T.".*"™  »°''  rosy., 
»»«y  i„  ,he  shade,  dance  •  the  ?'  ""*  *'  "■^'■««n.eter  st 

dntlawayintwosa^dthree;  b„t  rt, '''°'"'  "''<'  *>«'".     ' 
taDws  anything  of  the  wher^bo  '  Tf ^  '"  '"°^  ""'^  ""^ï 
y  goes  d,w„  ,ik,  ,  wheZfiTe   "T^"^  ='"'  "»'*'^- 
!,"«  "range  and  opal,  p.l.J.ytl'"'^'""^  ^'"^«' 
Then  they  drift  together  as  they  drift  a^  "T""'  »""  ^>>- 
PPV  tea^drinlting,   „hich  ;.  '""''"'  ^n^  Ihere  is  a     ' 

«"shed.  nose.  are'  sT^^  ^T"  î"  ^'^     ^««  "' 

niany  foryou?"  '  '"'"  *hermometer  has  ppt  béen  top 

./^No,  she  likea  heat,"*Mrs  W,«^  '  ^  '*'    '     ^ 

;^g>stcred.ame„tarvow,  to  be  ^ifl'''"'  '''  ^"^  '^»« 
Music  and  «oon8hi„e;pic„L"TÏ'''P'""^"^"°'"ore. 

rert^a  âge,  a^e  ii»tttak(;..  "'^  ^'''^^^  beyood  r 


a: 


t   »  " 


■•■''  rti, 


Aaia^,„V,v'.  .  ^ 


It'- 


~\ 


DELICATE  GROUND. 


ler, 


»wn 


17^ 


Reine  is  beside  her  grandmotho^,  but  she  bas  throwil  away 
thc  roses  and  ferns — wild  roses  are  not  long-lived  flowers. 
Marie  reclines  beside  Mr.  Longworth  on  the  dry,  wind- 
sceifted  grass  ;  she  has  been  beside  him  ail  the  afternoon  in 
spite  of  every  effort  of  Frank  Dexter,  and  neither  flush,  nor 
freckle,  tan,  nor  sunbum,  spoil  her  pearl  fair-skin. 

They  re-embark.  The  moQp  rising  slowly  from  over 
there  in  the  west,  cornes  ail  silvery  and  shining  out  of  the 
water.  It  is  a  fuU  moon — this  picnic  has  been  arranged  with 
an  eye  to  her  quartersj  and  three-qiïarters,  and  «h©  leaveâ  a 
trailof  tremulous  light  behind  her.  The  band  is  at  it  again, 
"  A  Starry  Night  for  a  Ramblej''-  it  plays,  and  the  moon  and 
the  melody  niake  the  young  people  sentimental — they  lean 
over  the  side  and  stare  pensively  at  thé  former.  Reine 
stands  among  the  moon-gazers,  but  Marie,  who  does  not 
care  for  moonlight  effects  except  on  the  Stage,  is  promenading 
slowly  up  and  down,  listening  fia,  anji  srailing  indulgently 
upon  Mr.  Frank  Dexter.  j 

'*  Corne  hère,  Laurence,"  says  Mig,  Windsor,  and  he  goes 
oVer  and  takes  a  seat  beside  her.]  "  I  do  not  think  we  hâve 
exchànged  tenjyords  ail  day.  Wha^did  you  do  with  your- 
self  thé  whole  of  this  afternoon  ?"  ^s  ' 

Shesmiles  as  she  says  it.     She  knows  Very  well  who  his 
"  companion  has  been,  ail  thîs  afternoon,  much  better  than  she 
does  wha  was  his  cotjtipaaion  this  m«frning. 

**I  had  thé^honbr.of  pointing  out  to  Miss  Lahdelle  the 
various  points  of  interest  aad  attraction  âbout  the  island," 
he  answers.     "I  only  regir^t  ,in  my  character  qi  cicérone, 
they  were  not  more  numerous  and  more  rémantic."        , 

*>.  Young  people.  manufacture  their  own  romance,  do  they 
;  pot,  Laurence  ?  "    Sne,  leans  forwaxd  aÂd  lays  one  ioingl  slim 
hand  on  his  arm.     "  How.  do  you  like  Tny  «fanddaughter  ?  'l 

'  ongwoilh^laughs.  ^gJW^  p^rfert  abruptmïg»  ~^^        quw;— ;- 


1^ 


u  k  enoigh^to  thrpw  anyj^jwfn  'off  guard,  but  that  inscrut 
aWe  iace  ncver  botraya  its  QWjoer.  .  g^^ 


l'i' 


■^>  A. 


'.  î*. 


H 


I 


>  V 


"My  dear  Afrs.  Viodsor  is  that  L  I 

'assmg  question,?    And  the,lvl„  k   t  *  '°™^"^'^*^  ««^aj. 

.  :«randdaughte«  are  youn^^^^        k     ''"^  °"^  '^^r-    Vo« 

,         certainly  has  little  daim  to  'he^ll  ^"""^^^  «^«"^daughte, 

«ow,  %  some  Ori.1^  p™'^  '"^«^'  -^«^  as  ahe  stand.  \ 
'She  j^  not  preitv"Mr»    w:  j  i 

''"d  I  think  she  has  k  ^J^^'  '^»-  "*"  <=ooIIy  ; 
^  *.pu..,  .  «os.  beautim,^,  î'"*^"     ="  **"-  ■».  "eyon'd  [ . 

™y  be  happy,  bfVhon! L  •  "*  ""*  »'•"'"'  any  <0«.   1 

inwardly  amus«)     r    ?'  "  ^".  »«»■»•    Longworth  bo*, 

(««mptorily  deolined?    I  !«"„     k'  """  "'"=•■■  ^J"  »« 
«ncc,  and  thought  betWr  oîh"  """"«^  ■'  »"" 

"  I  hâve  not  ihouehtit  o».rf™ 

fouhd  ii  impossible  tol^ltr  ''^""^  »^"«o*'it.     If  i  : 

nav."  *^  ""''^"^''^Mnpossibleit.miuïtb^   • 

"Btrti,  there  no  oth^r 


^"^'^"^^^My.-*^- 


■  ',"    •..   ■'■■  •    ■■  .  .■;s^^S•,*.■.?.^:   ■(•«.I 


<■'  1^'  • 


t 


■y:' 


DELICATE  GROUNDi. 


i8i 


■■^'u 


.■f  ■' 


mei^ed  ?    Is  there  no  othier  way  in  which  what  I  offer  niay  \ 

be  yours,  wit^out  injury  to  them  ?" 

"  Madam,  your  gobdness  overpowers  me,"  says  Mr.  Long- 
worth.  He  pauses  a  moment,  his  eyes  follow  hers  toward 
the  tall,  slender  form  with  the  loose,  golden  hah"  anâ  lovely, 
smiling  face.  "I  cannot  prétend  to  misunderstand  you. 
Yes,  there  is  one  other  way." 

"  If  both  my  granddaughters  wefe  plain  girls — ^"      * 

"Impossible  for  Mrs.  Windsor's  gran^ugbters  to  be 
that,"  puts  in  the  gentleman,  parenthetically. 

-^"If,  as  I  say,  both  thèse  girls  were  plain  and  unattrac- 
tive  in  any  wfiy,  it  is  a  suggestion  I  would  never  dream  of  * 

making.     But  Marie  is  more  than  usually  beaûtiful^;  she  is  l|^| 

gentlc  and  graceful,  and  I  do  make  it*   It  would  please  me       „  ^  :,    - 
veryrouch,  Laurence,  to  see  Marie  Landellià  your  v^ife — to 
know  you  as  my  son  in  rçality,  as  you  ha^  long  been  in 
heart.     I  like  the  gifl  .*better  than  I  ever  thought  to  lîke    -v 
^ipi^olyte  Landelle's  child.    Will  you  think  of  this,  Laurence,  0^ 

formysake?""  ,;*  '  k  ••         • 

„  "With  pleasure,  Mrs.  Windsor — for-yôûr  sake  and  for  my 
owri.    sindeed,"  he  s^ys,  and  a  sligbt  smile  breaks  up  the 

gtaVity  of  his  attentive  fade,  "  I  hâve  thought  of^t  myself 

before  this  evening.     Hqw  long  dp  you  givti!  me  to  toake  up 

my  mind?"  /     .  °        '  '  , 

.    **  Ôh,'all  that  is  entirely  for  you  to  décide.    JFall  in  love 

at  your  leisuré,  hy  ail  means.     I  do'not  know.how  a  man 

may  feel,  and  at  nç  time  waf  I^sver  very  susceptible  myself, 

but  l  really  cannot  think  it  a  difficult  matter  to  fall  in  love  ^ 

with MUe."  -;    '  ;   .;■.;  t  -'.,■-, 

''Frank  does  not  seem  to find  it  so at  kast'   I  think  hi  ' 

was  fatally  hard  hit  from  the  first.     You  stand  decidedly^ 
Miss  Landelle's  light,  madam,  in  offenng  hir  to  nie.:   ïn'a.. 
poo  niary  point  pf  wcw  Dextei  is-fitrauJ  away  a  bettef  tSittth  ■  ^ 

thanl/f      ■  >  .'  •    ■      ,  :  ,     .   ^':'  -4   ■       '  •       ■    ' 

^l*3^|^#<»  «M  »«»fi  to  ^spense  with  that  con^ration        "     t 


TPmî, 


.*l 


■^ 


-» 
•<*, 


S-- 


;'f  ' 


lèa 


j.^,^.-*'-^ 


DELICATE  GRQUffD^ 


■'M 


don  ?  "  -^  "  ^^^'^  "*ve  seen   m  Mrs.    Shel-. 

"Ahî  what?"  Longworfli  lai;Us.     'In„ 
<ïeacate^gH)und  indeed      Uv  Cr^    \  °*^  "^^  *«  on 

«irl  at  smeen,  Jd  in  th^L  ^  ""  "-^^  "^f  ^<^^y  P^etty 
formed.     She  'ttoew  ^  o/er  f  ^^.t^V^^^^  ^^^  "ot  been  " 
feJlow."  ""^  ^'^^^  '^"«'l>^  enougÏKfor  a  better 

"  You   are  sure   there   ar*.   ««       • 
-ouidn't  care  to  ppach  on  another'nun's"^'^"""^^  '      ^ 

feu  deliberately  in  love  onlv  tn  il    ^^  ""PJ^^"t  for  me  to 
rest  of  my  life."  """'^  '°  ^  *  '^l'ghtêd  being  for  the 

She  looks  at  him  quickly  to  see  if  h.  •     •      •  '  - 

sometimes    difficult  for    her    o  Z^      ï    i'  ^^'''"«^'     ^^  « 

»«  in  jcst  or  earnest.    His  col       •      '"^''    '^^^  ^^^«"^e 
grave.  "*''  countenance  at  least  is   quite 

'  w«:/dCrLT.„terrvr"  '•^"*^'''>-  -"■^x 

n,e„,s  or  engagements  «Li  '    '  *"  ~'"*  "  P""  «'«ch- 

i^::irnrj?i''rr^er."'"'""''-"-™-  ' 

knowr."  ^"^^  '''^™  »  ^o»ce  m  the  matter,  you 

me  to  MWe»oi«ne  Marie,  I  ho^  ^  /'  ^°^  "o"''  «««'^'        I 

by  any  chance-— 1"         "'^'' ''»"  •»'<'«.  tastes  diflér.    i( 
î___She^" 


look,  ,t  himJn  unfeigned  surprise. 


•a  ,  »  ,;• 


r  «    *  /'  4PV,.'' 


Ni 


DELICATE   GROUNÙ. 


m 


plain  girl  ?     I  cannot  believe  it.     I  should  certair.ïy,  for  youij 
own  sake,  prefer  it  to  be  Mane " 


V 


"  My  dear  lady,  how  are  we  to  tell  that  either  will  conde^ 
scend  to  think  of  me  twice  ?  ,As  to  Mlle.  Reine,  I  hâve  ic 
from  her  own  lips,  that  shç  hâtes  me,  tl)àt  she  always  intend» 
■to  hâte  me|  that  she  thinks  me  insufferably-  priggish  and 
PecksniflSan,  and  for  ail  I  know  she  may  be  right.  But  it  ik 
my  whim  *-^  hâve  freedom  of  choice — with  your  permis- 
sion."     ;■    '  '  _  .■  ■■     •  „    \^  ^     ■  I 

"  Mr.  Laurence  Longworth^''  says  Mrs.  Windsor,  half- 
amusçd,  half  annoyed,  "  my  opinion  is  that  you  are  laughing 
at  me  ail  this  while,  and  mean  to  hâve  notliing  to  say  to 
either.  You  know  perfectly  well  that  for  the  saccess  of  ojir 
scheme  it  would  be  tauch  better  not  to  say  a  word  abou^  it. 
Girls  are  proverbially  peî-verse — tell  them  they  are;  to  mo\  a 
certain  thing,  and  they  immedtateîy  go  and  do  the  reverse. 
But  you  shaJI  please  yourself.  I  will  speak  to  them  if  /bu  ^ 
désire  it."  7 

"I  do.  And  believe  me  I  am  more  in  earnest  than/you 
give  me  crédit  for.  Hère  cornes  Mrs.  Longworth.  1  resigQ 
in  her  favor.  " 

Marie  and  Frank  pass  at  the  moment,  and  she  smiles  upon 
him.  They  both  seem  well  amused  ;  it  would  be  a  pity  to 
spoil  sport  A  little  farther  down  he  sees  Reine,  no  longer 
^onc.  O'Sullivan  is  by  her  side,  and  Mrs.  Sheldon,  and  a 
few  more,  and  this  group  he  leisurely  joii\s.  Mr.  O'Sullivan 
appears  to  hâve  the  floor,  and  is  expatiating  on  the  purity  of 
Hibetnian  lineage  afcd  the  desirability  of  the  capital  lettei 
*'  O  "  by  way  of  a  «refix. 

"It's  the  equi\)4len^9f  the  German  von  or  French  de — a 
patent  of  nobility  in  itself.  Sure  any  one  that  ever  |do|^  the 
trouble  to  read  Irish  historyr— —  "  v  #^  ' 

••A  trouule  wnicft  not>ociy  ever  does  tâke,  my p^aàt^*       ~ 
aays  Longworth.  ■  „        / 

— — "knows,"  continues  the  O'Sullivan,  "  that  •  O  '  arajn    ' 


iv-  „. 


'•^^1 


'».";'i!  -  -  .    '  *.■; 


/ 

\ 


184 


DELICATE  G^UND. 


*  Mac  '  are  the  préfixes  of  an  ♦»,    i.- 

"\  "'ByMacandO, 

Ye'll  surely  know 

True  Irishmen  alway.  ^ 

ButiftheyJack 

^thOandMac,  ' 

No  Irishmen  arç  they,'  " 

-»eny  meeting  in  dare, Tp  theth        ■  "^''"'^  "^  "«' 

"^°'>'««Jo"ygoodfelIow, 
î^hich  nobod^cin/Jeny." 

her  hand,  as  he  ..y.tZ^tt\  T'/"'^'"^'  ^"^  ^«  «ft«' 

Her  tired  face  flushe  as  she  set^^^  Post-mark<^  U„do„. 
reads  it  eageriy,  and  kisses  wi;!  ch  •'  '^'  '"l"^  ^'  °P««  ^^ 
are  its  la^t^  '  ^"^  ^»»'»«  «/«  t^^  words'whicb 


"  ^^e  for  ever  and  evcr, 


Xâoncb.* 


L.- 


-ir-»- 


I 

■  r 


V 


■  * 


H 


•*AS  THE  QUEEN  WILLS.» 


185 


CHAPTER  XIII. 


p* 


s 


"AS  THE    QUEEN  WILLS." 

IEIN^,"  Marie  Landelle  says,  "did  you  really  enjoy 
th©  excursion  yesterday  ?  I  a'sk  because  I  heard 
ypu  singing  *  Ak  I  piûn  Jîls,' this  morning  as  you 
made  youi*  toil^*  And  it  is  time  out  of  mind  since  ,1  hâve 
heard  yçti  sing  as  you  dressed  before,."  ~ 

She  is  seated  in  an  arm-chair,  still  wearing  her  pretty  morh- 
ing-gown,  although  it  is  «close  Upon  threé,  grandmamnia's 
early  dinner  hour.  Reine  stancfs  béhind  her,  brushing  slowly 
out  the  long,  lovely  hair---her  daily  tari^  She  laughs  frankly 
now.  '^Xf 
,  "  Undoubtçdly  I  enjbyçd  it.  fhe  day  was  délightful,  the 
water  sniootli  the  compàny  agreeable,  an^^^ " 

"  Mr.  LongwortK  attentive,  '•please  don't  pull.  Petite. 
You  and  he  were  together  in  closte  âhd>;onfideritial  converse 
ail  the  forenoon,"  ,  ) 

"  Not  e§pecially  confidential.     How  shàll  I  arrange  your 
cDÎffure"tcMîay,  Msurié  ?  Braided  or  loose  as  usuàl  ?"" 
^"  Braids,  pleasé,  ^nd  put  in  the  ftrigfi|--puflfs  Ibr  a  changée. 
What, did youtaft  about ? "  4f 

^"  As  if  I  tpuld  remembér  !  What  do  people  who  meet  at 
picnics  always  tî^k  about  ?  Only  I  must  say  this— M.  Longr 
worth's  conversation  as  a  raie  is  much  bèttër  worth  hearihg 
than  the  avérage." 

"Ahr"' 

'  1  don'l  kBôw  >vhafc  you  mel 
discovered  that  ybu^lf. 
ftill  (k>  him  justice."     \ 


ï(^^  '<    f  A  iSiLkU'r^^u'^J 


•  Atk  t*'  You  must  haïre 
^diâlke  a  peri^on  aiid 


W- 


tfi-r 


186 


"Ms  r«s  QOEsif  urzzs.- 


.    s,^  ;,  „  .         ««y.  do  you  really  dislike  hi,n  as  you 

Monsieur  Longworlh  for  refJt  ,^  ,^°"  "'''  J'™  hafed 
«*«  J"st  or  reasonable,  I  J?  i  '  "'  «""«'  No«-  „as 
lî"B'So  frequemly  ,here,  you  Z,^\  °"'  ^'l  ■»«"■>« 


Wiïl? 


«change  a  dozen  words  „i.h  h^l      H       "r  '^^      ^  ''•'  "<» 
heard  every  .vord  I  said  Thl,  Z  „""=  '  "<"  ">l<^  ^ou  he 
.,  I  declared  I  „ould  hâte  wl  fl     ""?  ""  "•^'«'"e,  „hen 

unreasoùaWe,.syo„.:^„'r   r:i     "  "?'  "">"''  ""« 
is  anoeher  thing."  '       '  *'"  J"»"  msinuate-that 

*'-"larp,:L,t:r  '!^^„t4-X   -  h,™,    Reine,. 
help  it,  if  you  Ju  ulk  .tT^o'ds  L"   ""''°"'''=  <■-  "«  "• 

fallin^^hopelessly  in  ,„,^:  P'-<"'<>"Bced..    Thaï  poor  boy  i. 


Tha.^rboy,ind,;dl^ne 


«  8rangatnclcofyo,„.,riend,Mis, 


f\' 


^  *'-'*^• 


•fi"',,: 


»*AS  ^»R  Qtr^4N  wîLts:* 


l%f 


Hariott,  in  talking.-  Aptopos,  Rçiné,  I  d^n^t  Kalf  like  your 
Miss  Haiiott."  /<  ^1 

^  "And  I  love  heri  It  is  tlie  kinde^lieart,  andshe  is  a 
gentlewonian  to  her  finger-tips.  B|ÉWe  are  speakingof 
Monsieur  Frank  Dexter.",, 

"  You  are,  you  mean.'^, 

*iAndyou  ought  to  put  a  stop  to  it,  Marie,  you  know 
that.  He  was  so  kind'ïill  the  way  out«  Ji«  is  so  good-^Kaarted 
always— —  ",   '"  ''-5      '  .,    ...."'  ''•':;: 

«*  And  pray  what  hâve  I  got  to  do  withi  hîs  good  heart? 
One  must  amuse  one's  self,  and  if  they  fall  in  love,  I  cannot 
help  it.  One  likes  tô  he  liked,  atad  if  it  amuses  liim  -3,s 
well— "  '  „  '        „ 

"  Amuses  !  Marie,  you  koow  he  is  in  earnest.  Oh  1  you 
cannot  care  for  him,  I  know  îthat  well.     I  am  not  thinking 

of  you,  although  you  hâve  no right "ï  /         / 

.      "  Now,  Petite  !-—^  "  "  .'    ' 

**  No  î^t  to  flirt  at  ail  ;  but  one  day,  podr  fellow,  when 
you  throw  him  over "  ^ 

"  Ah  !  Dieu  merde  /  there  is  the  dinner-bell,"  criés /Marie, 
jumping  up.     "  She  cannot  go  on  preaching  in  the  p^senco. 
of  her  majesty  down-stairs.     ^you  say  another  worq.  Petite 
Reine,  I  will  drop  Monsieur  Frank  and  take  up  JVtonsieur 
Larry  !"  .  / 

"  Do,*  says  Reine  ;  "I  wish  you  would.  I  pron/ise  not  to 
interfère  there;  He  cannot  hurt  you,  and  I  am  àuite  sure 
you  cannot  lîurt  him.     The  man  is  as  hard  as  storie." 

It  is  quite  évident  Mr.  Longworth  is  still  not  ^bsolutely  a 
foe-forgiver.  Mrs.  Windsor,  with  a  more  gracions  face  and 
bearing  than  usual,  awaits  them  in  the  dining-i/oom.  It  is 
the  first  time  they  hâve  met  that  day.  Madam^  has  break- 
fasted  in  her  room,  and  so  has  Miss  Landelle./  Hâve  they 
-Tecovered  firom  the  fatigue  of  the^ienie^ 


40  see,  has  escaped  the  sun  scathless,  but|.Rein^  is  sunburned, 
It  is  something  quite  eut  of  the  v-\f(mH^Êi  hitITn  notice^ 


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f^AS  ÎWS  QVBMN  WiULS.** 


189 


f^I  need  hardljr  aay  Mr.  Longworth  bas  not  faUen  in  love 
with  eUher  of  you,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor,  «id  as  ske  says 
it^she  t^ns  uid  almost  pointedly  addresses  the  elder  sister  ; 
**  that  is  an  afiair  of  the*futttre,  if  necessary  at  ail.  Of  course 
such  a  inanriage  reconcU^  any  daim  of  blood  you  hâve  upon 
me,  with  my  own  incUnadons^  When  he  has  ûhoeen,  and  is 
prepared,  he  will  speak.  Is  i^  necessary  for  om  to  say  whaf^ 
I  désire  yoitr  answer  to  be?"    •  --  :^ 

Again  ReinctJooks  at  Marie,  fiery  soom  «nd  wrath  in  her 
face,  paâsionate  rebeUion  and  défiance  in  her  cyes;    '- 

"Speakl    Flîcig  back  her  insulting  offer  in  her  face  I" 
says  tbat'flaming  glanée.     But  Marie'.8  eyes  are  fixed  on  the 
white  hands  foldQd  in  her  lap^  her  face  télls  absolutely  nothing 
^r^)û^,8he  may  fcel.      '    >.  ^ 

'  ^  ^""tv^f^vçig  ladies  iMrotv^t  up  on  French  principled,  as  I 
preltume  yOu^th-  hâve,  oeen,"  continues  grandmamtnà,  in 
her  most  marl^d  g^and  duchess  manner,  '*  to  àcce|>t  the  hus* 
band  diosen  for  you  must'  présent  itself  as  thé  most  proper 
and  correct  thing  possible.  }Lx.  I>ongwprth,  1  aeed  not  say, 
posasses  in  himself  ail  that  is  iikely  to  atlract  the  fancy  of 
the  most  romantic  girl.  He  is  handsoigke,^e  itr  gifted,  his 
manners  are  perfect — he  will  be  a  hui^mnd  whom  any  lady 
may  be  proud  oL  He  is  well  disposed  tu  make  one  of  you 
his  wife,  if  you  throw  nO  obstacle  in  hi$  way.  And  this^  l 
think,  educated  as  you  hâve  been,  situated  as  you  àre^  neithap 
of  you  will  be  insane  enough  to  da"         î  ;.  n     .  ^v  t»ii 

**Ohl  this  is  shamefult  shaniefuli'*  Rfttae  g*è{!NI  under 
her  Inreath,  her  hands  cloiching,  her  heArt  throbbing.  *'  Why 
wiU  not  Marie  i^ak?  Why  does  she  not  rise  up,  and. 
say  Wé  will  go  out  and  bcg,  or  starve,  or  dw,  sooper  thao 
listen  to  such  d^adadon  as  this'I  And  he — oh!  I  laid 
well  when  I  (uwi  I  hated  hkitl    To  make  such  a  compact  «• 


Su»  tb  1^  raady~  fb  lœfcc  bne^of  us  îhtb  inin  fli^  hkn  bo- 
cause  he  ts  ashuned  to  take  her  fortune  in  any'other  way  t 
Hc  is  altnoat  toe  desoûsald*  Ait  battwl  attd  oontemut  1  '* 


f  Vï 


#"' 


Àï 


*9o' 


"-"  ^^^QCEMM  mLLS." 


■'«''"■«'••    Reine  crTerouV  ^^^°'' '■"™^^''ly>  " 

'"fely  impossible."  '^  "^^'^^^^  «  "tterly  and  abso- 

"l'iipossiblel"  Mr«!  w;  j 

^na  »„•,„  „„  ,„  a„^„!rrsur 'î  '"  *^=  «  -'- 

already  engagej  ;,.,  °  '"*  »'<*«C't)'  lo  corne  to  me 

.    **«"«  looks  acrossafi,.  ' 

'"«.■-"■  The„.h:\r;r::r"' ""'«'•••  w.,„a™ 

proposai  .haeieave',  J  d  J^^,*-  "^  *i»  unex^Z 
™«-     "My  «other'sdaulSr  *  .'°'"=''  "^  ^»™  '^n  Z 

*as  «„a,„ly  been,  a„d  I  a«  „? '^"' "^=«-    ^y  si„er 

.  "  '  do  not  kdow  that  ,>  ;!  ""'''  °''J«'-" 

.«'<f«  .be  ma«er  a.  a»  ■-  "  '  ?"="«^^  '''"/OT  aster  to  don 
;  1  doub,  if  th,„  Ci^  r;ir,'?''"«'  '■"  "■"  iciest  voie!" 
">  'he  tes..     Do  I  „„;:  «^'^  '"'=«|>oocf  of  her  being  oui 
^y  on  your  par.  .ha,  ^uTt.  ""^^  ""'"'  '^''^  I-andefl  ,o 
'<-  propose  foryon,  yoi  .1  .toTar  '""  ^^  "'"'""ô:      ? 

Rcne  starts  up      An    *.  **^*^^Pt  at  ohce?" 

for  a^second  over  .be  pea^  fal  f^orvî'''''-^"*  ''^'        '   ' 
,.  ,  Madame,  this  is  verv  s„hh  ,      '^^'■♦*'-  ^  i 


îfouiiivëT,^^^  ji^7 


Longnrorth 


a  fortnight.     Thaf  ii 


^ 


**AS  THE  QUEEN  WILLS."" 


i^l 


anjply  suffici^înt.     I  am  not  in  the  habit  of  pressing  my  fa- 
vors  on  any  one.     A  simple  yes  or  no  will  suffice.     WhicR  is    , 

"  It  must  be  yes,  madame,  if  you  command  it." 

*'  Oh  !  '■  Reine  says,  as  if  some  one  had  struck  her,  and 
slie  turns,  wilh  clasped  J^H^ç  aâ^d  crushed  look,  and  "goes 
back  to  the  window. 

"  Understand  me,"  pursues  Mrs.  Windsor,  in  frigfd  dis- 
pleasure.  "I  know  very  little  of  your  antécédents.  You 
may  both  hâve  had  lovers  by  the  score  before  you  came 
hère  ;  but  if  I  thought  either  of  you  were  bound  by  tie  or 
engagement  of  any  sort,  that  one  should  lÉnstantly  leave  the 
tiiis  house  and  return  to  the  man  to  whom  she  belongs.  I 
hâve  redèived  your  father's  daughters  becàtise  it  seemed  in- 
evitable-^if  I  fancied  either  of  you  were  bound  to  men  like 
him,  you  would  not  remain  another  hour  with  me." 

"  Oh  !  "  Reine  says  again,  under  her  breath,  in  the  hard, 
tense  tpne  of  dne  in  unen(|urabl^  pain. 

"  One  other  thing,"  continues  the  lady  of  the  Stone  House, 
rising,  "  one^last  and  final  word  on  this  subject.  Whomever 
Mr.  Longworth  may  choose,  should  she  see  fit  to  refuse,  she 
will  also  s*ee  (if  she  retains  the  élightest  good  taste)  the  in- 
dispensabihty  of  providing  herself  at  once  with  another 
home.  Should  he  be  accepted,  however,  there  must  be  no  ^ 
reluctance^  no  playing  fast  and  loose,  no  yourfg  làdylike 
humors  or  caprice.  She  9nu|>t  look  upon  the  contract  as  in-!pf;> 
dissoluble,  and  conduct%jîrself  as  the  affianced  of  an  honor- 
able gentleman,  and  as  becomes  my  granddaughter." 

And  then— very  erect,  very  majestic — Mrs.  Windsor  sails 
\)ut  of  the  dining-room  and  into  her  own. 

There  is  silence  for  a  time  between  the  sisters.  Reine 
Btill  stands  by  the  window  ;  the  rain  is  falling  fast  and  dark 
4ioWy  >nd-gh»  lookfr  at  tt  with  blaaky  stony  eyeg.  ^Aft«r-a 


moment  Marie  risés  and  crosses  to  her  sister's  kide. 

**  Reine  1  "  sire  says,  but  Reine  neither  lifts  her  eyes  noi 


e. 


k 


ViA 


il. 


'm 


4:^... 


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,y^ 


'*^S  7!«F  Qc^^^^  mLLS» 


«SPOIKfc.      Rei„ 

care«i„g,^  on  her  am,.    '    ""  ■'"«'«».  "0  %s  on.  h.„d 

«ih.„...  .'^'•'"''™«»f="PPres«d  passion. 

AreycHi  angry?"  "  * 

A,:rronr:,.:^i::,^'  ^«o-iesignif^n^, 

'o  whom  she  spoke  ?     7    ,    """'  '"™"'«i  '    Am  I  U„T 
at  liberty,  to  t^  ™  ^  '">■  ««"'*  keeuerV    r   ^      "* 

.choo^es/..'"  ^^"  --«...o  .eu  :^:y  ttZ 

■^-J^'tX^rC/r^J,:  ''■'  "-""'  »%.  -es. 
«"«d-     '•  This  tf%„r^  '^°7'"'  "«'«J  by  U,i.  pas,i„„^ 

«hatarewe.odo?»       "^  ^  ""  fe"ed    Petite,  PeiS 

•  \Lo„gwo„b^al  J^„d  *he  a  l  """  ""  '^'  '  ""  '"  please       . 

,-   Ana  if  he  does  me  th»  l,»' 

fer  me  /»  ■"'  •*«  '«'"or,  as  madame  Im,,^,  .„  p,^ 

.cXfi"::--««^o„,and.<,„sHorredco,o,da„. 

«'  me  and  I  refuse,  as  yô„Lr    T*""""  «"  «'  '«^ 
•"«dame  W»omimo,;,  "  ^°" '*"  ■"'  '  >»«(•     in  tta.  c^ 

"Much  better      r  ai 
ri^'^^'ecrsniel    A^Tj^'^Jt,  ,^"^  ^  Monsieur  Lon.. 


.    ""^*^"»  such  a  pcssibUity. 


-J. 


ressed  passion  • 


**AS  THE  QUEEN  WILLS.»  193 

"  No  such  dreadful  possibility,"  interrupts  Marie  coolly. 
"  I  like  him,  and  would  say  yes,  to-morrow  if " 

Reine  stamps  her  foot,  perfect  fury  for  die  moment  in  her 
eyes.     ^,>  '  , 

"  If  you  dare  to  say  it  I  "  A  moment  agô  I  despised  you. 
I  «hall  hâte  you  as  well  as  him  if  you  say  another  ,word. 
Listen-if  he  asks  me,  and  I  take  him,  do  you  think  it  wiU 
be  for  his  sake,  or  my  own  ?  No,  no  !  it  will  be  for  yours 
Mane-foryours  alone.  If  his  fear  pf  the  world's  opinion 
would  not  let  him  rob  us  of  ail  before,  surely  it'wiU  not 
allow  him  to  rob  you  of  your  share.  I  will  make  it  a  stipu- 
lation  that  half  shall  go  to  you.  But  he  will  never  think  of 
me;  it  wiU  be  you,  Marie,  you,  and  then— ,/w  soeur,  my 
dearest,  what  then  ?.  For  %sélf  I  do  not  care,  but  for  you 
— for  you " 

"Best  of  tempesluous  lîttle  sisters,"  say's  Marie,  and 
laughs-%ofrly,  and  stoops  an^  kjssçs  her.  "  Let  us  not  dis- 
cuss  that.  Let  us  hope  forlhe  best  ;  let  us  hope  you  will 
be  the  one  to  find  favor  in  the  eyes  of  my  lord  the  Sultan  " 

♦"The  shameof  it!  the  shame  of  it  !  "  Reine  says,  in  a^ 
stifledvoice;  «  to  think  he  can  l)ake  us  or  leave  us  as  he 
hkes^  ^How  shall  we  ever  look  in  his  face  again  ?  " 

«  Very  easily,"  Marie  responds,  calmly.  MI  can  see  noth- 
mg  to  be  ashamed  of.  It  is  a  farhily  affair,  as  ^andmamma 
-bless  herl-says,  quite  correc^  and  Frenchy.  Monsieur 
sperfks  to  the  grandmother.  the  gi-andmother  apprises  made- 
moiselle  of  the  honor  donc  her,  Mademoiselle  casts  down  her  '^ 
eyes  and  bows.  One  interview  follows  betweèn  monsieur 
and  mademoiselle,  and  everything  afterward  go^  on  vîlvet. 
If  he  had  chosenone  of  us-I  mean^hosen  you  last  evening 
--since  he  spoke  at  ail,  it  would  hâve  been  better.  but  as  he 
did  not Remje,  you  .we  not  crying  ?  " 


T^t  Reîpe  is  ISying,  not  in  the  least  like  ^n'^împeriout 
lattle  Queen,  but  like  a  very  self-wiUed,  humiiiated,  raorti- 
ne^  little  girl,  .  ,  -    « 


f 


''5*^, 


.fe^ 


-^1 
lin 


.  -J 


"V'it 


/"twastrjangto  bejdsitohim— ves   f«  k    r-     :i, 
h.m  yesterday/.  she  sobs,  véhément  A  ^sl^^"^'^,  "'^^ 

be  pleased— and  now  th\.  ,c         u     .      ^  ^°'^^"'  ^  ^»ed  tu 
QK-  »  •  '  ^"'^  "  ™y  thanks  for  it  ail  \  " 

o».,  and  ften  ."  s^  ?rltoff,K  ""''''  *"*  "'"  "«•*« 


CHAPTER  XIV. 

^É   EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 

iilness  a„d  poverty,  fe    "v"^^?  M    I  ^'""  *'  '''<'  *""«'» 

W.  Had  be»  ôoUùn'^^,'.':;»':  JSr  °f,*'-  ««"«aKn' 

bes.yea„  .„âed,  ^tmZT^^  ^»^ome, 
«o.  hâve  been  aflh.„ee,  butlle^H  J   ""''  "  '""'<' 

»any  l««e-boques^  h«ileft  ,  few,^       :f"^'  *"''  »"">"« 


X  - 


;,Wjp^ 


^»^>^;^,^**<^.. 


THE  EMSARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES.  IQS 

pitiful  heart  for  ail  who  toiled  and  suffered,  and  she  fed  thé 
hungry  and  clothed  the  naked,  and  the  sick  and  imprisoned 
she  visited.  So  when,  accompanied  by  Mr.  Longworth,  she 
presented  herself  at  the  town  jail  and  asked  to  see  the  pris- 
oner,  Kate  Blake,  no  officiai  tbere  was  very  much  surprise^ 
or  offered  any  demur. 

Shs  found  the  woman— a  young  woman,  a  girl  alraost,  and 
handsottie,  in  a  fierce  and  haggard  way— lying  on  the  bed, 
her  hands  clasped  over  her  head,  hér  eyes  fixed  in  an  un- 
winking  sort  oiT  stare  on  the  grated  square  of  light,  higb  up 
near  the  stone  ceiling.  Kate  Blake  knew  Miss  Hariott  well, 
and  knew  why  she  hàd  corne,  and  did  not  turn  on  her  fiercely, 
as  she  did  oxi  ail  other  ghostly  counselors  ;  she  only  made 
an  impatient  motion  of  shoalders  and  body,  and  turned  away 
her  head. 

"  What  brings  you  hère  ?  "  she  demartded  sullenly  ,  "  [ 
never  sent  for  you.  It's  manners  to  st^^way  until  you're 
asked  to  corne,  isn't  it?"  ^^^" 

"  Why,  Kate,"  Miss  Hariott  ans#ered,  ^ting  down  beside 
her,  ««is  it  the  fir^  time  I  ever  came  to  see  yoù  ?  It  is  cer- 
tainly  th^first  time  you  ever  were  rude  to  mê.  You  used  to 
seem  glad  to  hâve  me  visit  yott,  I  think."  s. 

"  Used  |0j,"  the  girl  said,  and  covered  her  face  with  her 
^hands.  •  \         . 

She  was  not  tWnking  of  th©  speaker;  a  rush  of  other 
memories  bitterer  than  death  fiUed  her  souL  It  was  not 
remorse  for  the  deed  she  had  dol^e  that  was  wearing  her  to 
a  haggard  skeleton,  nor  fear  of  the  doom  impending,  but 
passionate,  longing  love  and  des^air  for  the  map  she  had 
kiUed.  She  poure4  it  ail  out  in  ohe  burning  flow  of  words 
to  Miss  Hariott— Miss  Hariott  sitti^ig  smoothing  the  dark- 
tossed  hair  with  soft,  maghetîc  touch,  aod  soothin^  her  fren-^_ 

zied:nei¥48wîffifiér]ow;tenler,pîtyiiigvôîce-^  her  love, 
aU  her  wrongs,  ail  her  madness,  ail  heè  crime.    ' 

iVWhjrdoth^tiyme?»rfie«w4.    •*Ha?eIeverdenied 


^.^wpi^- 


ou.  rf  her  h<ft,se  and  I  A„t  hL     7^     I  met  h,™  coming 

back/of  long  w>  and  r  r.  l  •         ''°''  *'  ''»>^  <=<""« 

/  ^»/v"6  *6">  «na  1  see  him  airain  as  h»  .,»-.j  *    l  .. 

u>g  ilind  hand'some,  and  alwav,  ^     .-.u  ^  '"  ^'  ™''^ 

me  sor^  for  wha.  IVe  donc  a^;:„  «a'^ndT    "■''' 
as  soon  as  yo»  like  "  '     ■  "  J^"  may  go  and  leave  me 

.eeW  and  ™.  you  ^X  ^X  U^ '''  ^'•■'  ""^  " 
a  place!  L  «o  s„"h  a  Je^    No^'llî  ?  '=°"'  "'^"'='' 

oCyo?rzr;r-V^"'-i"-- 

won',  be  for  long^-  ^  ^^     ^  '«^  "^  X»"  '*«  !  it 

"And  î  will  promise  not  to  preach  if  I  can  hein  i> »  m' 

Hariolt  says,  cheerfully.     But  thoueh  ÂelL      .  ^        " 

Jbe  kneelsdownfo,  aU»5^3â  •         ""  ""*'*• 


'mv  sou]  I  »     Q.aii^^i         j    ^^  *"*  "'*^  waiers  are  corne  into 


^'  ^  <^^î^ém 


!^^*fT 


THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


197 


words,  and  the  cloquent  cry'  finds  an  écho  in  her  broken 
and  desolate  heart  And  long  after  her  visitor  lias  gone,  in 
the  black,  desolate  watches  of  the  night,  they  say  theinselves 
over,  and  over,  and  over,  until  they  fall  like  <Jew,  at  lîyst,  on 
hard  and  buming  ground  _^ 

As  Miss  Hariott  opens  her  owi)  garden-gate,  she  secs  sbme 
one  sitting  in  one  of  the  garden-fîhairsî  and  catches^he  flat- 
ter of  a  pale  suramer  dress.  It  is  Reine,  and  she  is  féading, 
reading  so  absorbedly  thaf  Miss  Hariott  is  leaning  over  her 
shoulder  before  she  hears  her. 

"What  lias  the  child  got?  'Friar  Jerome's  Beautiful 
Rook.'  Do  you  like  Aldrich's  poetry?— but  I  see  by  your 
face  you  do.  Friar  Jérôme  has  a  very  tender  and  touching 
little  moral,  has  he  not  ?  "  > 

"And  one  which  I  think  Miss  Hariott  practices,"  says 
Reine,  closing  her  book.  "You  are  the  Lady  Bountiful  of 
Baymouth,  I  think  ?  You  look  tired— where  hâve  you  been 
now?"  "^ 

Miss  Hariott  sits  down,  rather  spiritlessly,  fo/  her  who  is 
always  in  *Dirits,  and  tells  her.  ^ 

"  Poo^jll  !"  Reine  says,  "  it  is  very  dreadfuL  Will  they 
hang  her,  do  you  imagine  ?" 

"Ohl  no;  labor  and  imprisonment  for  life,  probably. 
She  killed  him,  but  there  were  extenuating  circumstances. 
ïte  was  a  villain — to  her  at  least,  though  an  honorable  man 
enough  in  a  gênerai  way,  and  as  men  of  the  world  hold 
honor,  and  she  loved  him.  ,  Loved  ^lim  so  well  that  she  shôt 
hira  sooner-than  çee  him  belong  to  another."* 
^  "  It^is  veiy'horrible,"  Reine  says,  slowly  and  thoughtfuUy, 
«  and  yet  I  think  I  understand  her-  I  thiuk  I,  under  similar^ 
circumstahcesi — —  *  ■■    ." 

"  What  I  you  would  commit  a  rhyrder,  too  ?  " 


"No.no,  what  I  mûaXL^ 


an  wha. 


really  lovèj,  would  ràthet  see  her  lover  dead  than  the  hus- 
b^nd  of  any  one  elae.    I  think  there  can  be  no  iiiore  poig- 


'.il- 


•\t^-/^        •  *-f  r 


\^ 


K 


:^. 


^98  r^H  EMBAHR^SMENr  OF  X/CffES, 


{ 


irS'- "«~iï?  tir  i 

/  u.cr  comessor.     "  I  am,  you  must  not  berin  bv  hiX 

-     »ng  your  secret  sins  and  soiTows."  V' oegin  by  lud- 

Reine  laughs. 

^  «  He  ha»  don*  nothing,  at  least  nothingwrone     Do.,  h.   - 
by  nature  for  do  yo„  W  I  neve;"^"^;^  JT:* 

;o  "  ^.'"*  '  "  .'^^  ^"'  "*^^«'  "  and  this  i.  the  prefTc*  tn 
soa^ething  about  Laurence  Long«rorth  I  »  -      ^  *° 

^  "And  in  novels,"  gœs  on  mademoiselle    ««n.  Zi 
,«  la«  IttUe  inch  from  the  staujiht  path,  «Bd  take  to  ooe-. 


N 


^M^^^^-tf^^-'w^S^^, 


^i^/ij 


('#•,  ^èidfid  %l-^*A^<a  i^J^i'  ^^'^'f»»;?^^)^^^ 


t    l-'Jf  ■■'y*      *''       ■       «'H'     «^*     1      ■       T     'i 


e>- 


/ 


THJSi  EfiBARRASSMMNT  OF  RICH&S,    ^      I99 

héait  the  black  theep  who  is  reckless,  and  |i  spendthriâ,  and 
a  dare-devil,  and  who  never  holds  himseif  a  little  lower  than  ■ 
theangelj^fc  "      '  -      ,'- 

"  AU  vq^y  fine  and  very  nonsenàical,"  cuts.  in  Miss  Hai"- 
Jott.  "  What  iuw  it  to  do,  a£^  how  docs  it  àppiy  to  our 
friendrMr.  IJbqgworth  ?  "      '  , 

"  I  w&h  I  werê  back  in  Rouen,"  goes  on  Reine,  'a  trerafor 
in  the  sweet,  clear  voice,  and  looking  up  wilh  jupaissioned, 
eyes  at  the  patchet.of  gold-gray  between  the  trees.  "I 
wonder  if  I  shall  evervbe  as  happy  again  as  I  was  in  Rouen  ? 
My  aunt  was  so  kind — so  kind,  and  I  loved  her,  and  Kéonce 
Bo  handsome  $çd  so  gay= "  „       .„ 

"  ^nd  you  loved  him  f    Who  is  Monsieur  Léonce  ?  " 

A  soft  roseate  flush  rises  up  over  the  dusk  iface. 

♦'  Ah,  who  ?  "  sJfc  says,  softly.  "  Sdme  one  whose  like  I 
never  &^  herp,  some  one  you  don't  know  ^nd  never  will. 

.  But  I  was  infinitelj'  happy  there,  and  now — an^  now " 

^  "  You  are  infwitely  misérable,  I  suppose.  ,^Thanks,  mad&> 
nioiselle,  in  the  name  of  Baymouth,  and  ail  its  people." 

"I  like  you,  and  you  khow  it,  and  ï  cah  néver  be  infi- 
nitely  misérable  while  Marie  is  near.     But  Ufe  is  ail  Camival . 
or  ait  Lent,"  says  Reinef;  "and  Lent  hajs  coiâe,  and  seems 
•likely  to  go  on  forever." 

"StUl,"  persista*  Mi^  Hariott,  «a»- F  said  before  I  say 
again-,-wkat  has  ail  this  to  do  with  Laùretice  Longworth?" 

"  Madame,  need  you  ask  ?  *Do  you  net  seFgrandmainm^ 
wishes  one  of  us  to  marry  him  ?" 

"Well,  and  b  that  such  a" Very,  terrible  contingency?  °  I 
think  fjpW  women-might  ask  ùxc  a  foirer  "fate  thaa  to  b^Laa> 
rence  Jx)ngworth'8  wiÉi,i"   =:       i.  ,  ,      ^^ 

-  "How  wett  you  like  hina,"  teys  Reine,  gazing' ht  her  curf. 
ously.  "  How  wéll  he  seèms  to  like  you.  I  wonder, 
then-^"  ^  ^  .  ^  . 


She  stpps/  àndlaughs  and  bluidiés. 
*^yniy  l  dQ  not  „waDt  t»  maanf  il 


maaty  làm  oog^ffelf  ?  "  sug^tsatf 


^1 


X'i- 


m 


■u 


*-- 


..^y 


.ail 


.,  ^*_-w. 


200 


rff£  F.MBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


M.  S  Hanott,  lookfng  straight  intd  the  dark  nrett.  «  . 
with  a  smile  that  puzzles  Reine.  "  My  det-  niv  dal?  ^ 
mance  has  corne  and  gone     AnH  T Y  ^    ^  **^   °" 

_  y««  „,a„  i„  heart  and  Idozen  .r^lTa  T^:  U   ^d 
«even  years  is  not  so  j.,rr  much."  «""«jou..   And 

But  Rrine's  voice  falters  ovef  tht  whitelie.  /    ' 

il  .s  just  t«rice  sevra  too  much.     Neveràieles».  Mr 

Tl  û       '"^^  ^?^'  ^"^^  '  *'»''  »  day  must  corne  „hen 
.1  would  ,ell.yo„  ,„  any  case,  and  besides,  he  would  no.  ^e 
He  never  „as  .n  earnes^  you  k„o.,  he  never  .^^ 

Reine  sitsui»  and  stares.  /  / 

"He  askedyou  to  marry  hto,  and  never  re^y  meant  4 
Madame  what  a  slrange  thing  you  tell  me  I"       ^  ^ 

'ng-  If  I  had  been  absurd  enough  to  «y  yes.  r  «<,„m 
hâve  been  Mr.  Lo„g.orth  to-day,  and  th^g^at  W^e^lf 
IZ  '^T'  "-  "^^  '»  '--  *a./i^e-w„nf/rv:: 

is  l'dibtf^g  '^•"  '"""""•'  ^^--  A  »  ^-Ax  there 

S^r^^re^vX^ar-  *  ^-  - 

She  laughs  once  more,  her  clear,  fresh,  heartihole  lauriL 

The  scène  rises  before  her  as  vividiv  as  if  i.  h  J  i.       "^ 

yesterday  instead  of  neariy  eigh^yemlo      Both  hT,!* 

^^^__«'"^i»B»y"'°».h,'buflate^y'^tZ»bnr/4  ^ 


«.ough,"  and  ..t^nûed  on  Uie  .poT  ThL" Us^Tcl  VS 

-  .■   >        •-        •      .  I  .  .         È  * 


li'H^._,|i.;J:'  ^'.''-  ' 


■^■^  <  Ai  -««i 


-.'^l 


THE  EMSAR^ASSMENT  OF  RICHES.  201 

as  love  at  sight,  there  is  also  such  a  thing  as  friendship  at 
sight.  Such  had  been  theirs  ;  they  were  friends,  close  and 
sympatheric  from  the  first  moment  their  hands  clasped. 
Longworth  came  ^o  her  regularly  for  counsel  and  advice  ; 
she  wrote  his  book  reviews,  his  dramatic  and  musical  criti- 
ciims  ;  she  picked  him  up  on  dits,  and  scrapRof  poetry,  and 
bits^of  romance^gd  current  gossip  of  ail  sorts.  He  spent 
his  evenings  alflllst  invariably  with  her  in  those  days,  and 
people  whispered  that  it  would  be  a  match.  The  whisper 
came  to  Longworth' s  ears,  taking  him  rather  by  surprise  at 
first.  But  the  more  he  thought  of  it,  the  more  pleasing  and 
plausible  the  idea  seemed.  ÎFinaUy  he  spoke.  Lying  on  the 
grass  at  her  feet,  a  favorite  attitude  of  rest  after  a  long  da/s 
office  work,  smoking  his  cigar,  listening  to  the  wind  in  $he 
trees,  and  the  stitch,  stitch  of  Hestfer  Hariot|'s  busy  ^&dle, 
he  proposed. 

"Miss  Hariott,"  he  said,  "I  wish  you  would  marry  me." 

Miss  Hariott  was  sitting,  as  has  been  said,  placidly  sew- 
ing.  She  was  used"  to  abrupt  speeches  after  'long  silences, 
but  the  abru^tness  of  this  fairly  took  her  breath  away.  Her 
sewing  dropped  in  her  lap.'  ♦'Well  !  "  she  gasped,  and  then 
she  laughed.  -' 

"Yes,  I  wish  you  would,"  continued  Longworth,  "l've 
thought  of  it,  a  good,deal  lately,  and  meant  to  ask  you  before, 
but  somehow  it  always  slipped  my  memory.  -  In  the  eternal 
fitness  of  things  nothing  could  be  more  appropriate.  I  be- 
lieve  we  were  made  for  each  ojjer.  Our  opinions  differ  on 
nearly  evei^  subject,  which  opens  an  inimitable  vista  of 
agreeable  controversy.  You  intend  to  live  and  die  in  Bay. 
mouth— sodoL    Let  us  live  and  die  together." ' 

"Well,  upon  my  wordl"  Miss  Hariott^  manages  to  utter; 
**  of  ail  the  audacious--~~" _^_ 

i  "No,  Idon'tseeit  ItÏ8"particularly  wasortâble.  ,Sfee 
hère»— he  raises  himself  on  his  elbow,  cool,  but  ^ite  in 
«amest—'Met  me  prove  it  to  you.    A  man  marries  to  find  an 


Lf '♦ 


9* 


Jf 


202 


THE  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICffES. 


agreea^  e  companion  for  life  ;  could  any  companion  be  nww 
agreeable  than  you  are  ?  A  man  marries  to  find  a  helpmeet 
~you  are  tlut  emmently  to  me.  Don't  kûow  how  I  or  the 
I^enix  would  get  on  without.you.  We  like  to  be  together 
we  never.tire  of  each  other,  and  I  am  uncommonly  fond  o} 
you.  You  are  clever-I  couldn't  marry  a  comhionplace 
young  woman"-he  winces  as  he  thinks  of  Totty-"tLgh 
ahewereayenr  Venus.  Youaregood,  and  I  révérence good 
women.     You  are  handsome-^ulcfn't  love  an  ugly  woman. 

And  h  would  bore  me  to  live  with  a  woman  I  didn't  love. 

w?k"^  "^  ^i""'^*^'-     Think  it  over,  Miss  Hariott,  I 
wcm  t  hurry  you,  iÀd  let  me  know  when  you  make  up  your 

And  th«^  Mr.  Longworth  Ianguidly~for  it  has  been  a  hot 
day,  and  there  has  been  a  press  of  work-resumes  bis  cigar 
and  h.8  position  on  the  grass,  his  hands  clasped  under  his 
head,  and  listens  with  uplifted,  dreaming  eyes  to  a  Katydid 
somewhere  m  the  twilight  piping  plaintively  to  its  mate. 

Yearshave  corne  and  gone,  and  Miss  Hariott  has  not  yet 
made  up  her  mind  to  reconsider  that  very  unimpassioned  déc- 
laration, and  laughs  now  with  as  thorough  an  enjoyment  as 
she  did  then  whileshe  relates  it  to  Mlle.  Reine.     But  Mlle 
Keme  is  disposed  to  look  at  the  matter  seriously. 

"ItbinkMr.  Longworthwasright.  I  think  you  two  were 
made  for  each  other.  You  hâve  known  him  ail  his  life,  hâve 
you  not?  Tell  me  about  him-I  am  in  a  lazy,  listening 
humor  to-day.  and  even  an  enem/s  histoiy  may  prove  inter- 
estrng.  Who  is  Monsieur  Laurence  Longworth  ?  Who  is 
hisfather?  Who  is  his  mother  ?  Has  he  a  sister?  Has 
he  a  brother?  He  looks  lifce  a  man  who  may  havc  had  a 
«tofy." 

Miss  Hariott  laughs. 


I^lffl 


wcan  m  CanaceT^^e  has  been  his  bbgraphei 
She  tnes  to  picturc  him  to  me  as  she  saw  him  fira# 


to  me. 


-jswsV*'.»* 


,  \\      Kgi  , 


'/ 


„  '  ■'  ■  ^'.--si      V      ■■<■  V  >■  ."•■'*■  ■     ■. 


rS£  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


203 


—a  little  fcUow  of  ten,  with  long,  golden  curls,  dressed  in 
black  velvet,  and  wearing  a  crimson  sash,  tall  boots  with  red 
tasselç^  and  a  little  velvet  cap  with  a  golden  band.     Imagine 

ity 

>«  Impossible  L",Jlaughs^  Reine.  She  thinks  of  the  grave, 
gray  figure  in  the  felt  hàt,  the  editor  in  his  dingy  sanctum,  the 
mai^old,  and  cpld,  and  self-centered — lifts  shoulders  and 
eyefâfow  despairingly,  and  laughs  once  more.  **  Oh,  impos< 
Sible  1  You  describe  a  fairy  prince  in  a  burlesque, -fibt  that 
solemn  matter-of-fact  Mr.  Larry." 

«  NeverCëless  Mr.  Larry  was  a  prince  in  a  small  way  in 
those  days,  and  his  uncle  had  brought  him  out  in  that  dress 
to  show  him  his  kingdom  and  his  subjects.  In  other  words, 
he  had  adopted  the  little  lad,  and  displayed  him  to  his  admir- 
ing  servants  as  their  future  master.  And  old  Mr.  Longworth 
is  a  very  riçh  man." 

"  Then  how  cornes  our  heir  to  be  a  hard-working  editor,  our 
butter^y  a  Caterpillar,  our  prince  to  hâve  lost  his  principality, 
and  be  hère  in  exile  with  none  so  poor  as  to  do  him  honor  ?  ** 

"  My  dear,  the  reason  that  has  worked  ail  the  mischief  in 
the  whole  world,  from  the  days  of  Elve  down — a  woman." 

Reine  is  vividly  interested  at  oncet  She  rises  on  her  el- 
bow,  and  looks  eag«!rly  at  Miss  Hariott.  ' 

"  A  worïian  1  Monsieur  Longworth  in  love  !  Oh,  more 
and  more  impossible!  The  first  might  be  imagined— this 
never." 

She  listens,  profoundly  interested  in  the  story  her  friend 
tells.  She  may  not  Uke  the  man,  but  where  is  the  girl  that 
does  not  like  a  love  story  ? 

"  So  I  "  she  says,  slowly,  '«he  really  resigned  a  fortune  for 

love.    That  cold,  cautious,  calculating  man  !    Icannot  un- 

derstand  it.    And  so  two  ladies— you'  and  Madame  Sheldon 

,tiiye,really  jgfuscd  him  VL 


*  We  aiffixe  most  that  which  is  most  prizeâ  by  others,'  rc 


•%.  ,  , 


i:^.4*4ç^^"i= 


*^  ^«B  SMBARRASSMENT  Of' RICHES. 


iir#pss 

«Long  ago,"  says  the  voice  of  Miss  Hariott,  breakina  in 
on  her  rêverie   "Pan/î«^«  ,         ***"Wh  oreaKing  m 

^^IVrJ'^'^'^"^^^^  -«^  volume. 


•rJ 


',«-.; 


-"•WV&to,, 


!  r. 


*'' 


W,- 


-(.I 


mS  MSfBARRASSMElTT  OF  RICHES. 


yon  one  «  thèse  '  Falling  Leaves* — not  /that  I  do  not  think 


205 


sèntiiiiental 


old' 


them  rat^er  pre|ty  myself,  but  then  l'm  a 

maid.       /  '  I      '  /      ;  -  !  !■■- 

"  Befoi-e  you  l|egin,"  says  Reine,  deiiHirely,|  "  let  me  nien- 
tion  that|l  see  t^e  top  of  a  certain  str^w  hat  down  yorderi 
among  t^  trées,:  and  I  Uiink  the  talented  head  of  your  poe|t/ 
is  undeil  it." 

"  Th^t  makes  no  difiference  whatever.     Now  listen  : 

"  *  Th^  riîses  hung  from  the  garden  wall,    '  ^< 

Vrith  à  low-sung  song,  and  swreet '  ** 

"  W^re  the  iroses  singing  ?  '*  inquirés  Longworth,  sau^jt 
ing  upj;  "rallier  a  new  floricultural  fict,  tïiat,  isn't  it  ?" 

He  bows  t(^  Reine,  and  takes  a  se*.t.     The  reader  fro|ri|s, 
but  rei  urnes  :p'  > 


«<  t 


I  my  heart  kept  time  to  th 
Lnd  the  patter  of  little  feet 


suminer  rhyme, 


?"  persists* Longwbitiu 


"  Dîd  the  Met  belong  to  the  roses 
"  If  tney  cotild  sing,  why  not  walk  ^|' 

"  will3roiihold  your  tongue,  Mr.  Longworth? "".de^ 
Mïss  HariotL  with  asperity.     "  Youi  remarks,  sir,  are 
as  they  are  à^CaSed  for. 


j^tit  now  wh^  the  snmmer  i» 

No  firesicifè  is  for  me, 
\[id  I  sit  alone,  with  a  dreafy  moan, 

By  the  lonesome  wailing  sefi.'  " 


dea<f  a:ndgone, 


'  •*  If  the  itunmer  is-dead  and  you  hâve  rfo  fii^side, 
strongly  reoommend  you  not  to  sit  nioaning  toô  lonri  )^j  the 
wailing  sealj  ^  you  will  hâve  an  attack  of  acute  rlieunia^isin," 
interrupts  ûé  editor  of  the  Phénix,  and  Miss  mriétt  #hati) 
tlig  bojk  in  «lent  "'    "  ^^' 


Mk 


displéasui-gt 


**  There'pever  was  a  more  necessary  prayer  than 
me  fiom  flijr  fiôend^'  '*  goes  on  the  gentlemam 


^irf>'? 


I)éliver 
•fWfaa» 


'■  I 


i' 


ff 


306 


TIŒ  EMBARRASSMEl/T  OF  RICHES. 


wrong hâve  le vcR donc  you    Mis<;  Mor.-^»*  .u 

youthful  mind  of  MUe  Rein,  ?     F  k  T*'""' "<'  '~'*'"  ** 

cop,  „f  „,  yo„u,fu,  „b^reL"  Al  '.  r  r  ■"" 

look  „p„„  you  i„  -a,.  ,i  hj  „f  TLad  and^^^"""""' 
fiendishiy  ttràst  Ais  proof  of  by  Ze  idtl  **^her,  you 

oherishi„ga„os.richin™ybrW^A.l  '\^°"'  !*'" 

and  stings  me  now  ?  ••  "*  ^'"*  "=«'  "  '"«« 

.h,'!T!!°  "'^',"«;  »««  so  bad,"  says  Miss  Hariott      «  R, 

ther  nonsensical,  p^rliaps,  but  musical    Tl,.  , 

is  called  poetry  niLla».  roi.  ^h' ««rage  of  whal 

n;^^;^.  aud  i»-.^io^o^vroiradirrr;:* 

^P^of  „u.„a,  i„l„es,as  U>„ugh  graudm^amm!':  ^  ex" 

Marie-aUugw'gdion  L  h   """"^  ""  ^'""*  ™*» 
for  a  «»rC  r  Jh°M'  f"!^'"'"''/  "■"  »"■«■  Reine- 


wniayoe.    But  as  he  lief  back  w  that  greai 


.^^-^ 


■»;i»j: 


'V''-5<" 


Il  . 


"^    ' 


rff£  ÉMBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHE^ 


207 


arm-diàu^  his  blond  hèad  resting  against  its  blue  back,  bis 
quiet  eyes  seçing  everything,  whilç  seeining  to  note  nothing, 
Reine  catches  the  steadfast  look  with  which  he  examines  hei 
and  her  sister — cool,  impartial,  almost  ironical — nieasuring, 
as  she  feels,  their  worth  î^nd  fitness,  or  unfitness,  for  the 
bonor  of  his  choice.  It  stings  her  pride  like  a  whip  ;  she 
bums  and  tingles  under  it  with  very  shame.  There  arc 
times  when  it  requires  an  effort  of  will  not  to  rise  and  de- 
iïôûncè,*'  iitMi  defy  and  refuse  him,  and  rush  from  the  room 
and  the  bouse,  and  retum  no  more.  "  He  is  considering  well, 
no  doubi»  which  he  will  choose  andctake  as  the  unpleasant 
but  inévitable  incumbrance  of  a  great  fortune  ;  it  is  the  em- 
barrassaient of  riches,  and  he  is  slow  in  making  up  his  mind. 
\  She  riscs  now  to  go,  having  lingered  sufficiently  long  to 
\  prevent  his  thinking  she  Aies  at  his  approach.  She  is  far  toc 
piroud  for  Ihat  He  does  not  offèr  to  go  with  her,  and  she  is 
grateful  to  him  for  that  much  at  least.  He  returiis  her  part- 
ing  and  distant  bow,  Und  sees  her  départ,  the  same  attentive 
and  watchful  look  in  his  eyes  the  girl  bas  often  detected^ 
He  does  not  remove  it  until  ?he  is  out  of  sight. 

•*A  thoroughly  good  little  girl,"  Miss  Hariott  remarks; 
••  a  tender  heart,  a  élever  head,  a  pure  soûl " 

"And  ^n  uncommonly  peppery  temper,!'  interrupts  Long- 
worth  ;  "  the  pride  of  the  duse  and  the  self-will^of  a — woman." 

"  I  like  her  none  the  less  for  that.  Neither  do  you,  Mr. 
Longworth.  We  know  what  sort  pf  nonentities  girls  wlthout 
pride  or  self-will  are.  A  moderate  amount,  of  course,  there 
certainly  is  a  Une."  • 

"  Ah,  but  there's  the  rub — how  much  is  a  moderate  amount, 

and  where  is  |he  Une?    Now  I  am  disposed  to  be  ûriendly 

with  Mlle.  Reine.     Is  i|  her  proper  pride  and  self-will  that 

impel  her  to  fly  from  me  ou  every  occasiony  as  if  I  w«re  hif 

^^^^^^^^Sataak  majeitt3^homs;  lioo(V*»^"^'^^ 


"That  is  préjudice— she  will  see  its  injustice  one  day 
How  do  you  progress  with  the  lovely  Marie  ?" 


r4f^vr  ■ . 


/■I 


208 


r^£  EMBARRASSMENT  OF  fUCHES. 


\ 


ffpsy  favorite  wcre  only  half  as  ami!  k,                 ^°"'  ^'"^« 
TT^  „*  ,  •'    *"  *s  amenable  to  reasnn •» 

h/pLs  Îmo  m      H^Tor  °sLT  '"°""". 

them.         '^    '""'""* ''™«»''«er«JmehaIbam,  f„i,of 

*'  This  is  none  of  mînA  »»  »k« 
mademoiseUe  "  '       *  """""  '  "  "  "««  "«'«ng  to 

beauffui  Mi»  H^iort  has  eve™«en    V  r"'  ?'  ■"°'' 
™«en,  i«  a  manlj,  hand  :  Undem^alh  there  is 

"  "'•'""y  Ihine— LfoNCK.» 

"  Léonce,"  Miss  Hariott  says-  1<.  F„„„,, 
French  face.     Did  vou  «v,r  ^     '     u-      ^''  "*"=  «"«l  » 
Yes,  Mlle.  Reine  tr C  r  *"'?;"«''*''" '■^"''«'•»=  ' 
abty,  wi*  her  hanZchS^  *""•"••  "•  """«'  "'  ""•  "«"> 
wortî?'"  *e  co«es  «,  Caim  .issing  ^^^,.  ^^  ^^^ 

deepLnÎTh"  'Tf '"«"     °'"  ^°°  >»»«"'"    TT,»  colo,       ^ 

h«r  pocket    "lu'r  înT"*  "^  P'"'  *«  Pi<='"«i» 
»|.  .nd  she  lifts'  h^Trr'shn; Jt  «d  r"*"  ^'" 
jrgmta.;  ring  oC^k6»«c,i^^  .1™"  .*?  "  '"  "^ 
«note  «nd  goes.  ™nej^ione.  TBen  she  turns  onc« 


#-,> 


■;»KÇS$iàf.,, 


.'\! 


u 


THE  BiiBARRASSMENT  OF  RICHES. 


•f-,. 


209 


Does  she  niean  her  cousin  ?"  inquires 


"Hcr  aunt's  son! 
Longworth.  • 

"I  présume  so  j  I  hâve  heard  her  speak  of  him  before. 
He  must  be  a  reraarkably  handsome  young  man." 

"  *  Wholly  thine— Léonce.'  Affectionate  for  a  first  cousin," 
says  Longworth,  and  Miss  Hariott  looks  at  him  keenly  for  a 
moment     Then  she  leams  forward  and  speaks. 

"  Larry,  I  am  curions  to  know.  Will  you  marry  one  of 
Mrs.  Windsor's  granddaughters  ?  " 

He  laughs.  ^" 

"  Who  has  been  telling  you  ?  "  he  asks. 

"  Oh,  ît  is  patent  to  every  one— he  who  runs  may  read. 
You  intend  to  marry  one  of  them  ?" 

"  Being  impracticable  to  marry  both,  yes — if  she  wili  hâve 
me." 

Shfe  looks  at  him  thoughtfuUy,  wistfully,  and  long. 

"  I  wonder  if  you  are  in  love  ?  "  she  says,  as  much  to  her- 
self  as  to  him.  ■" 

His  face  wears  its  most  impassive  expression.  It  tells 
her  nothing.     But  the  smile  that  cornes  slowly  relieves  her. 

*•  I  am  your  friend,"  she  says.  "  I  wish  yod  well,  and  I 
do  not  wish  you  to  marry  without  love — deep,  and  lasting, 
and  true,  as  it  is  in  you  to  love."    -  N 

"  And  as  I  will  if.  I  marry.     Without  it  I  will.ask  no  ône,  T 
not  even  one  of  Mrs.  Windsor's  mpst  charming,  granddaugh- 
ters.   And  I  mean  to  ask  one  of  them.    You  wish  me  God- 
peed,  do  you  not  ?  "  '  i     ' 

V"  With  ail  my  heart,  if  it  be  Reine."  i 

"Hère  are  visitors,"  he  says  and  rises.  "No,  I  won't 
stay  and  meet  them.     Good-night." 

And  so  he  goes,  with-tlie  shadow  of  a  smile  on  his  face, 
and  Miss  Hariott  is  left  perplexed  and  provoked^to  ask  hei^ 
jjjtfafgin  and  agwp,  y  Wbiich  i«  it  to  be  ?  »  .  -, - 


'41 


tôiè^^ 


■«s^ 


'^-   ^Al^ 


aïO      "  StVSET  SIL  VER  UGHT  OF  THE  MjOON.» 


\  CHAPTER   XV. 


u 


BY  THE   SWEIT  SILVEU  LIGHT  OF    THE   MOON," 


I»*-     I 


|AYS  go  hy,  weeks  go  by,  July  cornes  in  its  splendor 
to  ^aymouth,  arid  still  Miss  Hariott  says  to  herself, 
as  she  has  said  from  the  first,  "  Which  is  it  to  be  ?  It 
seems  the  most  impracticable,  the  most  hopeles^thing  in  the 
world,  if  Reine  iVïhe  one  he  wants." 

But  «§|ietl^er  or  nô^eine  ts  the  one,  it  is  imppssible  to  tell. 
No/ohé  caiitell;  nôK^^.   Windsor,  growing  anxious  but 
hiding  her  anxiety  well  ;  not  Reine,  cool   and  impassive  ; 
not  Marie,  smiling  and  serene.     The  fonner  young  person 
puzzles  Rester  Hariott  nearly  as  much  as  the  gentleman— 
cold  apathy  has  replaced  passionate  rébellion,  utter  indiffer- 
ence  more  hopeless  than  active  dislike.    She  never  avoids 
.  him,  she  talks  to  him  and  of  him  quite  freely,  but  wièh  a 
#erene  comi>osure  that  should  be  the  most  exasperatîng  thing 
on  earth  to  a  lover.    A  lover  in  no  sensé  of  the  word  does 
Ht.  Longworth.appea/-perhaps  the  rôle.of  sighing  swain  is 
not  consistent  with^itorial  dignity.     They  meet,  they  part, 
they  talk,  theyy^U^hey  saU,  they  ride,  they  dance,  they 
laugh  togethèr  ;  and  the  more  they  see  of  each  other  the 
farther  ofT  ail  idea  of  tendér  sentiment  seems.     Açd  ye^ 
somehow-^the  wish  being  father  t6  the.  jHpught— Miss  'Hàri, 
ott  cannot  get  it  oui  of  her  hcad  that  Reine  is«  the  one.    She^ 
has  learned  to  loye  very  dcarly  the  girl  with  the  brown^  ear- 
ncst  e^'e»  and  thoughtful  face— there  are  times^hen  she 
doubts.  distnists,  a^ost  dislikes  Marie.  ^■ 

The  summer  days  pass  pleaeantly  in  BayihouA  ;  there^  «re  . 
-perpétuai  picnics^^nd^y urfcions  fay^fand  and  feâ,  inoonl^tr^ 
•ails  down  the  bay,  boating  parties,  stçawberry  festivals,  and  * 


\,: 


^-. 


j>-.*AW**M3tfV»'asi  ''Ha  «**w»v ^i»  .?  .z&^iii&w.ï  'uï»L«  ^'-4j»..  /iiS;^  ,jil.A-,-i. 


^^^^^rvT'mr 


\^*SfFE£T  SILyER  UGHT  OF  THE  MOONy 


211 


ail  the  innoxious  dissipation  that.  goes  to  make  up  the  gayety 
even  of^a  large  country  town.  The  iadtés  Landelle  are  in 
request  everywhcre.  Every  masculine  heart  over  fifteen,  in 
Baymouth,  beats  rapturously  with  love  for  Marie,  and  those 
'sweet,  flitting  smiles  of  hers  are  bestowed  with  peî-fect  and 
niaddening  impartiality  upon  alL  Two  proposais  bave  been 
made  and  rejected,  rejected  very  gently,  but  so  decidedly 
that  one  despairing  youth  fled  from  thgj^me  of  his  boyhood,  ^ 
and  rushed  withrhis  anguisI|»upon  hiiu  to  the  uttermost  wilds 
of  Montana.  Among  thèse  stricken  deer  perha}»  none 
were  further  or  more  hopelessly  gone  than  poor  Frank*  Dex- 
ter.  The'  middle  of  July  finds  him  still  lingering  in  Bay- 
mouth, ùnable  to  tear  IjJBiself  from  the  side  of  his-enChan- 
tress,  unable  to  pay  that  visit,  so  long  deferred,  to  his  sonth- 
crn  home.  Letters  fulï\jof  impatience  and  expostulation 
come  weekly  frdm  his  mother,  commanding,  exhorting,  en- 
treating  his  return  ;  but  Frank  cannot  jgo.  The  yacht  is  his 
excuse — the  yacht  already  makinga  brave  show  in  her  dock  ; 
but  love,  not  schooners,  holds  Dexter.  HefearsHis  fate  too 
much  to  put  it  to  the  touch,  he  is  furiously  jealous  of  every 
othetyaspirant,  and  Long#orth  he  fears  and  hâtes  with  an 
intensity  that  has  something  quité  Tratricidal  in  it. 

."  lx)ngworth,"  he  says  gloomily,  one  evening — Byronic 
gloçm  and  raisanthropy  sits  permanently  on  Mr.  Dexter's 
brow  ^f  late— p"is''thi8  beastly  story  they  are  circùlating 
through  Baymouth  truç ?"  \ 

**What  beastly  story?"  inl^uires  Mr.  Longworth, jazily, 
leaning  back  in  the  boat 

The  cousins  are  out  in  a  beat,  Frank  ist  rowing/and  it  is 
a  bazy  July  twilight  They  are  not  often  together  of  late, 
Mr.  Dexter  shunning  Mr.  Longworth  as  though  he  were  a 
walking  pestilence  ;  but  on  this  occasion  he  has  pres<{ed  foi 
his  Company  on  4>urpo§e  to  "hâve  it  out.'\     Tbg  edjtoi— 


rbclinil  in  the  stern,  stesripg,  smoking,  looking  lazy,  plaèid 
«ndhappy; 


mf:'î^% 


K^ 


,1*.-^- 


-*T*é^^ 


vl 


l-i 


^TT-. '"î^"^^     -^B^ipr^lt^;! 


'Jf 


4^  » 


il  a      **SV^KET  SILVER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOOIT** 

"  you  must  hâve  heard,"  says  Frank,  with  a^ort  gr^wl  ; 
*'beastliest  scandai  I  bclieve  ever  was  inVented.VIt'8  abo' 
you  and  '* — Mr.  Dexter  pauses  with  a  gulp,  as  iP^the 
choked  hiin—"  the  Misses  Landelle."  ,  \   "*    ''^"^ 

"  What  about  nr^e  and  the  Misses  LandeRe  ? 
'you're  about,  Baby  >  here's  a  tiig-boat  coniinj^' 

"  They  say  that  Mrs,  Windsor  has  oflFered,you^aïir  (^çiçe^ 
and  they've  consented,  and  are  only  waitihg  for  you  to\throw 
the    handkerchief. ,     It's    too  diabolical.    i>   can't  •bçlieve 
itl"       ^ 
:  "  Disbelieve  it,  then."  °  ., 

^♦Butisittrue?"  ,^ 

**I,toId  you  to  niind  what  fow  were  about  I  *'  cries  I^ng» 
worth,  startiog.  up  and  holding  the  rudder  hard  ;  *Mo 
yoù  waril  .^^fcTtug  to  run  into  us  and  send  us  to  the  bot- 
tom?" 

"  By  Heaven,  Longiln^h,  if  this  infernal  story  is  tnie^  I 
don't  much  care  if  she  opes  1  "  passionatdy  exçlaims  Mr. 
Dexter.  . 

"  Don't  you,  dear  6oy  ?  But  I  flatter  myself  l'm  of  some 
service  to  king  and  country;  and  do^t  want  to  see  the  bot- 
tom  of  Baymouth  £ay  to-night,^t  le^t.  Now,  what  was  it 
yqu  were  saying  ?  Oh  I  about  ^^Mesdemoiselles  I..andelle. 
Did.  you  invj^lë  mè  out  lu  ii  w|P|j||||ty  deep  Jo  jfek  ^f^ 


s  my  right,  and  I 


this,  Baby  ? 
" I  did.  . And  îwant  an 

demand  it." 

**  Your  right,  dear  tjKoy  ?   .Don't  scem  to  see  it 

"  i  love  Marié  Landelle  I  "  cries  FVank  with  suppressed 

passion.    "I  mean  to  i^  her  to  be  my  wife.    Must  I  wait 

untUàhe  has  refused  you 
*^p6ïi  îhink  she  will  refisse,  ine-^when  I  ask  ?  '* 
^*  I  thinjc  so,  J  hgpgjm^^^^  J  am  «gft_oCJt> 


And  théft  again—- ."     He  breaks  off,  and  clenches  the  oàri^ 
an4  pulls  furiously  for  about  five  minutes.    While  the>$puxt 


'■/'\'" 


0  '  f* 

**SIVMET  SILVER  LIGMT  OF  THB  MOOli.**      «IJ 

■(  '  ,  ^ 

lasts  Mr.  Longworth  bas  to  look  aAer  the  ruiâder,  and  silence 

perforée  reigns,  but  it  ends,  and  Frank  rests  on  his  oars,  and 

lets  the  boat  drift. 

"  Larry,"  he  says,  in  something  like  his  ol(l  frank  voice, 
«Yoifûsed  to^be  a  goodfellow,  we  use'n't  to  be  half  bad 
friends.  Come  I  speak  up  I  You  hâve  been  in  love  bno» 
yourself,  and  gave  up  afortune  for  a  woman's  sakcJ  You'Ve 
not'iniove  now,  l'il  swear^  but  you  cannot  hâve  forgotten 
that  time.  Youknow  how  it  is,  and  howl  feel,  and^I  want 
an1k)nest  answer  as  fronv  nian  to  man.  Co  you  mean.to 
ask'Marje  Landelle  ?  " 

Tliere  is  a  pause.  Longworth  looks  with  kindly  glance  at 
the  lad's  flushed  face,  and  excited  eyes.  He  has  grown  thin 
and  rather  haggard  thèse  last  weeks,:and  the  old  boisterous, 
bQoming  laugh  no  longer  echoes  thro^gh.  the  haUb  ^of  the 
Hqtel  Longworth. 

"My  dear  boy,"  he  says,  "of  what  use  wili  ît  be  eveû-if , 
I  siWno  ?    You  hâve  afuU  dozen  rivais." 

"Burton,  Morris,  Graham,  and  others,"  Frank  answers, 
excitedly.     "I  àm  not  afraid  of  any  of  them.     Longi^orth, 
I  am  afraid  of  you." 
.  "Whyofme?  They  are  àll  richer  men,  younge»  meh • 

*<Pshaw  1  as  if  youtlî  were  anything  but  a^draarback  ;  but 
that  is  not  the  question.    You  are  backed  by  her  grand- 
mother's  auâiqrity,  and  if-  you  ask  she  inust  acccfpt  yoir 
•  whether  or  no." 

**A  most  humiliating  suggestion.  Besides,  if  sfae  refuses 
me,  and  accepts  you^she  may  defy  her  graudmotber.  Mrs. 
Francis  Dexter  can  dispense  with  dowry.^  -  .  "'  - 
^'*Thisis  not  the  question— don't  shuffle  and  evi^e,  Long* 
woithl"  cries  Frank,  passionately.  "Will^youbr  wUl  you 
not  ask  Marie  LandfUe  to  ifaarry  you  ?  "  %,  - 


r  I 


ir 


=^ 


~"  I  wiU— iipt  ! 

•*cKot  I    You^ean.that,  Larry  ?  *K 
-«  1  mçaa  that»  Baby,    AÎul  I  keep  my  word,  as  yoa  maj 


> 


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r 


^ 


2Î4     "SfVEEr  SrivER  LiGffT  OF  7 HE  MOOU.»      • 

know.     Go  in  and  win,  and  my  blessing  upon  your  virtuou» 
endeavors." 

"Shake  hands   on  that  !  "   exclaims  Frank,  leaning  for 
ward,  his  eyes  gleaming  with  delight.     "  Dear  old  boy,  what 
a  trump  you  are!    And.  by  George,  what  a  load  youVe 
Iifledoffmy  mind." 

They  clasp  hands,  firm  and  fast,  for  a  moment.  Dexter's 
face  is  exultant,  Longworth's  kindly,  buta  trifle  compassion- 
ate.  ç/.  '^ 

_  "  So  hard-  hit  as  that,  dear  boy  ?  Take  care,  my  Baby  - 
rt  s  not  safe.  It's  not  good  policy  even  in  a  game  of  this 
sort  to  nsk  one's  whole  fortune  on  a  single  throw.     If  one 

wms  one  is  certainly  rich  for  life  ;  but  if  one  loses- " 

"  Wuh  you  out  of  the  race  I  fear  nothing  !  "  cries  trium- 
pnant  Frank. 

"  You  think  nothing  remains  thçn  but:  à  quiet  walk  over? 
Well,  I  don  t  want  to  croak,  and  ^I  wishVou  good  luck  but 
girls^are  kittle- cattle,  as  the  Scotch  say.  ^And  she's  a 
coquette,  Frank,  in  a  very  subdued  and  high-bred  way  I 
own,  but  still  a  coquette;  and  whère  one  of  that  profession 
is  concerned,  '  you  can't  most  alv^ays  sometimes  tell.'  Take 
care  !" 

"But,  Larry;  you  must  hâve  observed  that  lier  manner  to 
me  19  différent  from  her  manner- to  other  men.     She  goes 

With  me  oftener,  she  seems  to  prefer Oh  !  hang  it,  a  fel- 

low  can't  tell,  but  you  kno«r  what  I  mean.     Would  she  en.* 
courage  me  only  to  throw  me  over  ?  " 

"Whoknows?    Hâve  you  everread  the  WidowBedott? 

"  *To  uy  why  gais  «et  «o  and  so 

Or  ^ot,  would  be  presumin';  ' 
-  Mebbe  to  mean  yes,  and  say  na 


«  Mlle^  Marie  seeme  as^lear  as  crystal,  limpîd  as  a  «tmm 
Urook;  but  try  to  ,ee  the  bottom,  and  mark  if  yoù  don't 


«♦» 


5l^Ri.^>i^',iB>i'i "  it* 'JlgLiiU.  ',  j;,>*ji|«ï'"i  A-»»! 


'4»''«tt,<it&4i  l'/-^p. 


mmttmmmi 


■^■mn.^m*~^  -'<--ftêmmum:ig>i 


*-3K  '*;•  ï,.  \Xf  .' 


,     "I; 


r  virtuous 


'^SWEET  SILVER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOOif.**       2ï$ 

find  yourself  bafflled.  The  crystal  depths  obscure  themselves 
ail  in  a  moment,  and  whatever  is  below  remains  hidden. 
Mind,  I  don't  say  she  has  anything  to  hide,  but  if  she  had  she 
would  know  hàw  to  hide  it  She's  a  clever  girl,  Frank,  and 
I  wouldn't  count  too  securely  on  the  coveted  Yes  uctil— 
well,  until  it  is  actually  spoken." 

"AU  must  take  their  leap  in  the  dark,  why  should  npt  I  ? 
But,  Larry,  if  you  don't  mean  to  propose  tô  Marie-— and,  by 
Jove,  how  you  can  look  at  fier  and  not  madly  fall  in  love  with 
her,  is  what  I  cannot  understand — do  you  intend  to  propose 
to «       -K 

"  My  Baby,"  says  Mr.  Longworth,  placidly,  but  with  a  cer- 
tain décision  of  tone  that  the  other  understands  ;  "  as  Mr. 
Guppylsays,  *  there  are  chords  in  the  human  heart,'  and  it 
is  not  for  tall'  boys  to  make  them  vibrate.  I  hâve  told  you 
I  am  not  going  to  offer  myself  to  Mlle.  Marie  ;  that  is  suffi- 
cient  for  ybu.  Now  let  us  return,  for  I  présume  you  hâve 
finished  with  me  for  the  présent,  and  I  am  due  at  Madame 
Windsor's."'  '  , 

"  So  îim  I.     Croquet,  isn't  it  ?  " 

And  then  Mr.  Dexter  résumes  his  oars,  and  with  a  face  of 
cloudless  radiance  rows  to  land. 

•  This  same  sunny  aflernoon,  but  a  few  hours  eariier,  has 
seen  Miss  Hariott  ancf  Mlle.  Reine  walking  slowly  through 
the  hot  and  dusty  streets  of  North  Baymouth,  the  din  of  the 
huge  throbbing  macfhinery  in  their  ears,  its  grit  and  grime  in 
their  eyes.  The  narrow  streets  in  this  part  of  the  town  lie 
baking  in  the  bfeezeless  beat  ;  matrons  sit  at  their  doors, 
children  in  swarms  trip  up  the  unwary  pedestrian  on  the 
sidewalks.  Reine  goes  with  Miss  Hariott  very  dften  now, 
aiid  the  dark  French  face  is  nearly  as  well  known  as  Lady 
Bountifurs  own.  . 


Miss  Hariott  makes  a,  call  to  day  she  has  never  made  widi 
Reine  before.  It  takes  her  to  a  tall  tenement<house,  and  up 
three  pain  of  stairs,  into  a  room  tidy  and  comfortable,  the 


laitM^^  A>  «<    .r 


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2l6      '*SWEBT  SILVER  LlàHTOF  THE  MOONJ' 

floor  carpeted,  the  Windows  curtained,  a  canary  siôging  in 
one,  flof  ers  filling  the  other.  A  girî  sits  in  a  low  rocker 
sewing,  a  very  old  woman  is  kneading  biscuits  in  a  pantry. 
The  girl  rises  with  an  eager  smile,  and,  as  she  turns  to  greet 
her  yisitors,  Rejne  sçfes  with  a  thrill  of.  pity  that  she  is  biind. 
'il  thougfityou  had  forgotten  us,  Miss  Hariott,"  the  blind 
girl  says,  brightly.  "  Grandnwther  has  been  wondering  if 
you  were  gone  for  another  European  trip.  Gran,!^  is 
Miss  Hariott  at  last.  You  must  excuse  her,  çlpaâ^fshe 
grows  deafer  every  day."  V  «r's^^  * 

"  I  hâve  brought  a  friend  to  see  you,  Emil^,''  says  Miss 
Hariott  taking  a  chair.  My  friend  Emily  Johnston,  Made- 
moiselle Reine  LandeÙe." 

«Ahl  nïa'amselle"— the^Blind  gfîri  holds  out  her  hand, 
and  turns  so  directly  to  Reine  that  it  almost  startles  her— 
«♦  I  am  glad  to  see  you.     I  can't  really  see  you,  you  know, 
but  I  always  say  that.     I  hâve  heard  of  you  so  much." 
"  Heard  of  me  I  "  Reine  repeats. 

"  Why,  yes,"  says  Emily,  laughing.  «You  go  about  with 
Miss  Hariott,  don't  you  ?  and  then  people  drop  in  and  talk  ^^ 
about  the  Frendi  young  lady,  with  the  pretty  foreign  ways,  '.  i 
and  sweet  voicé,  and  kind  words  for  every  one.  And  when 
Mr.  Lohgworth  cornes  I  ask  him  no  end  of  questions.  Bless 
you  !  we've  sat  and  chatted  about  you  by  the  hour.  He 
doesn't  start  if  himself,  you  know,  but  he  answers  ijiy  ques- 
lions.    And  l'ni  sure  I  fiope  you'U  corne  often." 

Miss  Emily  Johnston,  having  lost  the  use  of  her  eyes,  has 
by  no  meao^lost  the  use  of  her  longue,  and  chats  away  with 
a  vivacious  volubility  not  infrequent  in  the  bHnd.  She  hoW* 
up  the  work  she  is  busy  upon— a  sheet,  Reine  sees. 

«  The  first  half-dozen  nearly  donc,  Miss  Hariott,"  she  says. 
**You  maysend  me  some  more  whenever  you  like.    Mr. 


the  other  day,  so  I  hâve  sèwing  enough  for  the  piésem» 
liA'amseUe  Reine,  îiow  do  you  like  Baymouth  ?  "  ■■* 


■^  ..«:.»«ib_^^.(  THwawKys) 


M  -v 


M«Ie'n*î«Bean5»ersn.<,r.Mdnfor*p„«red.    Theyri» 

^  no,  a  care  i„  .he  world,  and  for  ,he  Ia.t  e  J  ^^s  t  ' 

wavTMi'fr    "r.'^^'    WhydoessheWkfaehal       «^ 
way  of  Mr.  Longworth  ?    Whaf  is  he  lo  her?" 

ST:<^':'f?hr.  f  «*"';•*•  «"^"^  *'"'^"  »^« 

ngnt  work  of  that  sort,  and  was  the  sole  support  of  her  oM 

^t:' Xrt^r  h  '"^";  '"=  ^"''^  ™^'-''»  <" 

way,  was  taken  to  the  hospital,  remained  there  t«ro  months 
«dcameou.asyous«eber-perfect.yblmd."    ""  """""'^       , 
M>x  atu  /  How  terrible  1  " 

think  ofT;       '  *"  ^'^  ""  ""  g^-dmother,  ^Tl 
both.    She  bore  her  blindness  bravelv  but  sh-  hroi.  a 

st.n  go  on  »  before.    I,  waa  kind  of  him  no  dottbt  ••  sav. 
Miss  Hanott,  in  an  impartial  voice    "ht,.  r..n         ^^ 
"■r'T  iV^  -<^^<  eirirt-ane^'..  "•""  """-"« 

»r«  ^,       "=*"'">«<f  '"  P»y  it  ê«r  si^i,  .^^713 


1:1 


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M^   s*  vi^w  !*'■■ 


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fmm 


um%',n»<'v  iv'gt, 


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7  • 


2l8      **SWEET  SILVER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOON}' 

at  home  instead  of  at  the  office,  and  sews  for  me  and  for  him 
when  we  want  her.  She  is  quite  cheerful  and  resigned,  as 
you  see,  having,  as  she  says,  too  miany  blessings  left  to  '  fly 
in  the  face  of  Providence  '  for  the  one.blessinjiHe  has  taken 
from  her." 

There  is  silence  for  a  IJttle,  and  then  Reine  speaks  ia  a 
lôw  and  broken  voice. 

"  And  I,  with  sight  and  home  and  sister  lefl,  repine  and 
rebel  against  the  good  God,  grieve  and  mourn  for  the  Hberty 
and  the  home  and  the  friends  I  havê  lost.  Oh  !  my  friend, 
how,  thankless,  how  full  of  ingratitude  I  am  !  To  go  through 
life  always  in  night,  toisee  no  sun,  po  loyely  world,  no  flow- 
ers,  no  sea,  no  summer  I  And  ye^;^to  kiss  the  hand  that 
strikes."  ,.    j(" 

"Do  you  know  Mrs.  Browning"*  poem,  Reine?'*  says 
Miss  Hariott.  "  There  is  one  verse  I  like  to  think  over, 
when  the  past,  with  ail  its  losses  and  crosses,  cornes  back 
to  me  : 

*•  •  I  bless  Thee  while  my  days  go  on, 

I  thank  Thee  while  my  days  go  on  ; 

Through  dark  and  death,  thro'  fire  and  frost, 

With  emptied  arms  ànd  treasure  lost, 

I  bless  Thee  while  my  days  go  on.'  "  \ 

They  go  home  through  the  sunset  almost  in  silence.  At 
Miss  Hariott's  gâte  they  part. 

"  Are  you  coming  to-night  ?  "  Reine  asks. 

"  To  the  croquet-party  ?  Of  course  not,  child.  The  idea 
of  playing  with  little  red  and  white  balls  at  my  time  of  life  1 
No,-I'expect  a  friend  or  two  this  evening.  If  you  see  Frank 
Dexter,  tell  him  I  want^him  to  corne  and  see  me  to-morrow 
without  fail.  The  lad  goep'raoping  about  no  more  like  him- 
self  than  I  am  like  a  statue  of  Niobe.  I  don't  know  what's 
"cbnie  to  hîm— yes  T do,  tbo,"  says  Mîss  Hàriofl^  fubbing 
her  nose  in  a  vexed  way,  "  and  I  like  the  boy,  and  it  worries 
qitef    i{is  mQther  wan^ç  bini.    |  had  a  letter  from  her  to-day 


1     »  (tf  »  ( 


"  J-WB^r  SILVER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOON.^      219 

askîng  me  hçw  he  is.  carrying  on,  and  threatening  to  corne 
and  fetch  him  if  he  does  not  report  himself  speedily  at  head- 
quarters.  His  continued  a^gence  annoys  old  Mr.  Long- 
worih,  and  that  ridiculousteune  we  hear  so  much  of  fluctu- 

Seel^  ^'^^  ^  ^^'^''''^*      ^^""^  ^'"^  '°"'^'   '''"  ^°"'   ^*"'* 
Reine  promises  and  goes,  troubled  and  anxious   about 
many  thmgs.  j  As  she  enters  the  garden  she  finds  JVIarie  ail 
m  whit^  and  è)oking  seraphic.  her  «  sweet  face  in  the  sunset 
light  upraised  ^n«i  gloriaed,"  gathering  flowers  for  a  bouquet. 
^^     Every  onewill  be  hère  in  half  an  hour,  Petite,"  she  says, 
and  hère  you  are,  dusty  and  woni  and  disheveled  as  usual 
How  can  you  fancy  running  about  those  ugly  streets  in  the 
hot  aftemoon  sun,  ipstead  of  staying  sensibly  at  home  and 
improving  yoiy  tiine  and  your  temper  by  a  siesU  ?    I  am 
sure  you  and  Miss  Hariott  must  bore  themoor  people  dread- 
fuUy  with  your  perpétuai  visits.     Wear  pf  e  yeflow  to-night, 
dear  Petite,  and  thisred  rose  in  your  haîrl"       * 

"Corne  up  with  me,  Marie,"  says  Reine,  and  the  elder 
sister  puts  her  arm  about  Reine's  slim  waist  and  goes 

«Now,  then,  Petite,  wliat  is  it?"  she  dema«ds,  seating 
hersçlf  m  the  easiest  chair  ;  «  what  is  th^  latest  indictment  ? 
You  look  as  if  the  juiy  had  %nd  a  true^ill.,  What  hâve  I 
done-for  I  see  a  sermon  in^ôur  eyes.  W^t  a  uity  you 
can  t  mflict  ail  your  preachin^on  youj  pensii)ners  and  leave 
poormein  peace.'  \\        \ 

"  It  is  a  sermon  you  hâve  often  h«i)d,  a/  least,"  answers 
Reme  j.  «'  I  wish  you  would  let  Frank  Dej^tèr  alone." 
>  Mairie  laughs. 
^;  "  That  poor  Monsieur  Frank  1    if  he  ktiew  how  often  ^e 
dukniss  him  he  surely  would  be  flattéred.   'jiave  I  not  told 
jytt  a|ftjii>  and  again  that 


% 


4>ut^I  eawiet  helt» 


hi.  falling  in  love  with  me.     Other  ^eh  0o  the  same.  and 
yott  find  no  fault*'  /i  ' 

"  I  hav«.  I  do,  I  always  wili/f  Relief  cries  passionatety. 


^ 


220  •    ••  ^tV££  T  STL  TER  UGHT  OF  THE  MO<m.**  \ 

"  Marie,  Marie,  this  is  worse  than  thoïghtless.  He  wa?  so 
kind,.'and  I  ïike  him  so  nrach,  andnow  hc  is  misérable  ai^ 
must  ^Iways  be  misérable.     Oh  !  it  is  a  sKame,  a  sbame  1  " 

*' Mon  Dieu!  Only  hear  her!  Hea» tless  1  Misérable! 
baé  would  think  I  was  a  monster  V  ShâU  I  order  hini  out 
of  Madame  Windsor*  s  hoiise  ?  shall  I  refuse  to  answer  when 
he  speaks?  shall  I  get  a  mask  and  wear  it  while  he  chooses 
to  rcmain  in  this  dreary  town  I  I  tell  you  I  am  not  keeping 
him  here-r-it  is  bis  yacht." 

AH  this  Marie  says,  l^ng  eyebrows  and  shoulder»  together, 
and  makinga  very  beconnng  and  vcry  jF#tfe€h-«f<w*,  butmth 
'  the  sweetest'temper  ail  ttie  while.  •       \ 

"  Listen,   Petite,"   she   goe»  on   caressiiiglyv   *'  it   won't 

hurt  Mr.  Frank,  this  absorbing  passion— he  isonly  a  boy.     I 

am  sorry  to-hurt  hini.l'Uke  him  vastly,  but  tbe  Hurt  will  not 

last.     Do  not  Ict  us  talk  of  him— let  us  talk  of  Mr,  Long- 

.worth.     How  long  he  i»  în  niaking  up  his  mind  1  " 

Reine  sighs. 
î  "  It  is  ail  a  muddle.     Things  are  getting  into  a  dreadful 
tangle,  and  I  do  not  see'daylight.     Marie,  1  hâve  bad  but 
one,  but  onc  ktter  ffom  Léonce." 

"  Which  goes  to  prove  that  M.  I^nce  is  probably  amus- 
ing  himsclf  well  wherever  he  is,  and  does  not,  trouble  bitnself 
too  much  about  you.  But  do  not  be  anxious  on  that  score. 
Next  English  mail  will  doubtless  briny  you  another." 

"  Mine,,  if  M.   Loneworth  asks  you,  how  shalF  you  say 

no^•' 

Marie  looks  at  her,  a  soMfc  m  her  soft,  yellow-hazd  eyes. 

"  Chère  Petite,  I  shall  wait  until  he  does  ask  me,  ^There 
are  limes  when  I  am  noU  at  ail  sure  that  be  wiU  cyer  gpire  me 
that  fifouWe.  ^  There  are  tiraes!  when — -Corne in  ! " 

«^  Mrs.  Windsor,  miss»"  aaysCatherine»  pttttingin.herhead> 
""li  jg  ji^ïng  for  you,  aoasi.    Mrs.  Sheldom  and  Mf.  D««^ 
hâve  come,  and  mi^is's  compliments,  miss,  swl  wiU  yotf  com» 


WÊ^-'^X.SÊm.iamÊmBÊMi 


" SWEET  SIL  VER  LIGHT  ÔF  THE  MOON.^      22 1 

**  Huny,  Rèîne,"  Marie  «ayisj  and  goesi 

But  Reine  does  not  huny.  She  complètes  her  toilet  very 
leisujely,  and  then  sits  down^by  the  open  window.  On  the 
table  before  her  lies  a  ïVench  prayer-book  ;  in  the  prayei- 
bçok  are  some  pictures.  She  takes  out  one,  cherished  with 
care,  evidently.  It  is  the  photograph  dropped  on  the  grass 
seyeral  weeks  ago,  and  picked  up  by  Mr.  Longworth.  Long 
aiid  tendeHy  «he  gazes  at  Ae  pictured  face. 

"  My  dear  one  1  nay  dear  one  !  "  she  murmurs.  "  Oh  I  my 
LéonceXif  the  woree  comtes  to  the  woret,  how  will  it  be  with 
yoti?"  ,; 

Another  tap  at  the  door.  She  replaces  the  picture  hurried- 
ly,  rises,  and  opens.     It  is  Catherine  again. 

"  Miss  Marie  sent  me,  Miss  Reine.  She  says  they  want 
you,  and  will  you  please  corne  down  at  once  ?  " 

Reine  goes.  Sunset  has  faded  out  in  primrose,  and  opal,  and 
pearly  gray  ;  the  stars  are  out,  and  the  silvery  summer  moon  is 
slowly  rising.  Some  dozen  are  there,  busily  engaged  in  cro» 
quet,  and  Frank  Dexter  is  by  Marie's  side.  Mr.  longworth 
is  there,  but  he  is  not  so  completely  engrossed  by^e  game  as 
to  be  unable  to  observe  how  well  pale  com-col6£<becomes 
young  ladieswith  clear,  dark  complexions  and  "exquisite 
brown,  blessed  eyes,"  and  how  very  perfect  is  the  effect 
of  one  large,  sweet^smeUing,  crimson  rose  just  over  the  left 
ear.  "".■'' 

Reine  joins  the  croquet  party,  and  plays  one  ortwo  games, 
but  she  is  absent  and  distrait,  plays  at  random,  and  exas- 
pérâtes her  side  to  madnes».  At  the  end  of  the  second, 
she  throws  down  her  mallet  and  déclares  she  will  spoil 
sport  no  longer.  She  disappears,  and  the  game  and  tbe 
laughter  go  on  without  her.  But  presently  they  tire  of 
balls  and  hoops,  and  music  and  quadrille  on  the  grass  is 


proposa" 

«*  Whcre  is  Reine  ?  She  ^iU  play/ 
Windsor.  .     , 


i'Sl 


stjiggests  Grandmamm» 


■^    V 


Jfcv  ?     -i'  *  &  i  ly 


--* 


"'t  " 


■V,        ' 


S22      ** SJVEET  SILVER  LIGHT  OF  THE  MOOIf.* 

Madani  does  not  think  her  younger  granddaughter  csped- 
ally  ornamental,  and  so  décides  she  should  on  ail  occasions 
make  herself  particularly  useful. 

"  She  went  in  that  direction.  I  will  go  and  find  her,"  sayî 
Mr.  Longworth.  ' 

He  goes,  at  once,  and  pending  her  discovery  the  party 
pair  off,  and  stroU  about  in  the  m'oonlight.  That  luminary 
has  quite  arisen  by  this  time,  and  although  it  is  ten  o'clock, 
the  night  is  Mmust  middayclear.  Evidently  Mr.  Longworth 
has  t^atched  Mlle.  Reine,  for  he  goes  directly  to  where  she  is 
sitting.  A  low  wall  at  the  extrême  end  of  Mrs.  Windsor^s  back 
garden,or  orchard,  séparâtes  it  from  the  shelving  shorle,  and 
on  this  low  wall  Reine  is  sitting.  The  bay,  ail  smooth  and 
polished  as  a  great  mirror,  lies  before  her  ;  boats  corne  and 
go  ;  one  merry  party  afar  oflF  hâve  a  concertina,  and  the 
music  cornes  sweetl;^  and  faintly  on  the  still  night*  The 
nioon  shines  fuU  on  Reine's  face,  on  the  pale  amber  drèss,  the 
black  ribbon  around  her  waist,  and  the  coral  ornaments  she 
wears.  She  is  always  picturesque,  she  is  more  picturesqM 
than  ever  to -night. 

She  lo»ks  up  as  the  footsteps  approach,  and  he  sees  no 
shadow  of  changie  in  her  face  as  he  draws  near.  She  does 
not  look  surprised,  she  does  not  looked  annoyed,  she  does 
not  look  curions  ;  she  glances  up  at  him  with  nothing  in  the 
steadfast  brown  eyes  that  Longworth  can  make  out  but  se-  ' 
rené  indifférence.  He  cornes  quite  near,  and  leans  agamst 
the  wall. 

«  They  are  going  to  dance,  Mlle.  Reine,"  he  says  ;  "they 
want  you  to  play." 

■  •*  Do  they  ?  "  she  says,  making  no  motion  to  rise.  "  Therc 
are  others  who  can  play,  I  believe.     Who  sent  ?  " 

MMrs.  Windsor."  .  -■  _    . 

Il  ^^^  \  siigiïfl^iré  curlà\Rèihè*s  lip^^-^e  looky  ar  hini ^ 

this  time  with  a  glance  almost  of  contempt    "  Moniôeur/ 
ihe  says,  "  did  she  send  j'tfK  /  " 

.  -  '  *  -a  * 

•,«,4.  '  -  "  •,.*--«      t4    **^        •  ■'.'^?tfS-ft""'|%-' 


-. ,~   1 


UMlllM!L!mS"i3SZ.   '  "^iéi 


•*riŒ   WOOING   O^TJ* 


223 


^o,  mademoiselle,  I  volunteered.  I  wanted  to  speak  to 
you  privately  just  a  moment  I  hâve  wantéd  to  -for  some 
time,  but  you  do  not  give  me  an  opportunity— that  is  why  I 
hâve  fc^Uowed  you.  I  wish  to  ask  you,  MademoiseUe  Reine, 
if  you  rtrill  db  me  the  honor  to  be  my  wife  ?" 


— il 


■Il 


kii* 


»•'•. 


sq^e 


CHAPTER  XVI. 

"THE  -VOOING    o't." 


|HE  words  are  spoken.  He  stands  looking  at'her 
quite  calmly,  but  rather  pale,  and,  beyond  ail  sha- 
dow  of  doubt,  in  profound  earnest.  He  has^startled 
even  Mlje.  Reine  ont  of  her  admirable  nonchalance.  She 
looks  up  at  hini— stunned. 

"  Monsieur  1  "  she  faintly  exclaims. 

"lamafraid  I  hâve  been  abrupt,"  he  says,  still  quietly, 
Vf^yet  with  a  certain  depth  of-feeling  in  his  voice;  I  fear  I 

hâve  surprised  you.    And  yet  I  thought " 

The  color  that  has  left  it  rushes  back  into  her  face,  flush- 
ing  it  for  a  moment  from  forehead  to  chin. 

"Oh,  do  not  stop!"  she  cries  out;  «go  on!  Say  what 
you  thought,  what  you  know,  that  my  grandmother  has 
asked  you  to  marry  one  of  us,  that  she  has  ordered  us  to 
marry  you,  wheneveryou  did  us  the  honor  to  ask  !  And  I 
am  the  one I     ^h I  Afàn  Dieu /  Mon  Dieu/ " 

She  covers  hériacè  with  her  hands— a  sudden,  passionate, 

df^p^iring  gesture  there  is  no  mislaking.     In  the  moonlight 

Longworth,  already  pale,  turns  perfectly  white. 

^-----^*^Maaëiiiôrsënë-;^-=^,' 


_  ns,  hurriedly. 
«fOhl  wait,"  she  says,  in  a  sHHed^  voice,  «only  one  m» 
ment    I  am  not  going  to  say  no,  you  know  I  am  not  goîng^ 


V4 


..•i.)isiL.:- 


v<„ 


•# 


m 


in^    tf    «i 


T-r 


-  ■■'-.] 


224 


i4 


^*T^E  WOOING  O'T.'' 


to  say  na  And  I-t^ugh^  to  hâve  been  prepaDed.  Wait  onl» 
Qne  moment,  I  enjtreat."  t.     . 

He  waits.  Wer^  ever  momeS  aÈs_.lpng  as  hpï>rs4>efQre  ? 
Then  her  hands  àll,  and  clasp  hatd  together  i»  her  lap, 
and  she  looks  at  ftim  with  dry  and  dreary  eyes.  ** 

"  Forgive  me,»»  she  says  ;  '•  I  ought  not, .ria^ow.  Since  it 
had  to  be  qnè  t^f  us,  I  ought  to  be  glad  it  isj|f.  I  feared  you 
would  hâve  chosen  her — she  is  b€autifuli»^âib%  I  am  not. 
Monsieur,  I  wonder  you  chose  me  I  "  '^' , 

He  stands  petrified.^  Pid  ever  niaiden  make  such  a  speech 
to  her  lover  before  !     But  he  manages  to  reply. 

"Beauty  is  a  questiornof  taste.  You  hâve  always  been 
beautiful  to  me.  But,  mademoiselle,  you  misunderstand  me, 
I  think.  When  I  said  I  hopedlqjfctis  would  not  surprise  you, 
I  meant  that  my  attentjon.s  to  yicflj  should  havp  prepared  you 
fpr  it.  I  really  thought  (hey  had  j  J  really  strove  to  make 
them.  I  never  had  any  thought  of  asking  MUe.  Marie 
from  first  to  last." 

She  sits,  her  hands  still  clasped,  but  her  eyes  hâve  left  his 
face,  and  arp  watching  the  moonlight  on  the  water.  She 
seems  to  be  Ustening  as  much  to  the  f^int,  fv-off  music  in 
the  boat  as  to  him. 

"  I  knew,"  he  goes  on,  "  that  you  were  prejudiced  against 
me.  I  overheard,  as  you  are  aware,  your  déclaration  of  war 
♦hat  afternoop  last  May  in.  Miss  Hariott's  garden.  But  per- 
haps  that  vçry  préjudice^  that  very  défiance,  were  but  added 
mcentives-*if  I  needed  incentives.  J  gtrove  in  good  faith, 
and  afler  vay  light,  to  remove  your  aversion.  'ii<m  useless 
my  strîving,  how  poor  my  Jight,  I  réalise  to-nighj,  ^ealizing 
for  the  first  tirae  that  you  absolutely  hâte  me." 

"  Monsieur  1  "  she  flashçs  out,  wiUi  a  touch  of  sconi,  "  did 
you  think  I  loved  you  ?  " 
**I  afever  did  you  that  injustice,  mademoiselle.     But  I  was 


L 


y 


not^gonscious  in  ^  way,  or  by  any  4ct  of  wine,  of  d«iserving 
ypiir  dblike,  and4  meant  to  try  and  rempve  it,    Qf  late  yo» 


:  st' 


\à. 


1  V'V 


'>S 


'1^' 


^+_- 

.'^t 


>»dJ  I 


**rifE  WOOING  O'T** 


22$ 


have  seemed  at  least  to  be  fricndly  with  me — to  treat  me 
with  no  marked  aversion,  or  avoidance/  and  I  thought  I  h^tdx 
succeeded.     I  was  presumptuous  enough  to  hope  that  when    ' 
I  spokeyou  would  neither  be  shocked  nor  amazed."     She 
doeg  not  speak.     She  sits  quitc  still  on'the  low  gray  walI, 
and  listens  to  the  beat  of  the  tiny  waves  on,  thé  shore. 

♦'That  Mrs.  Windsor  spoke  to  me  is  tnie,"„he  goes  on; 
"  that  I  told  her  to  speak  to  you  and  your  sister  is  alsd  frue. 
But. long  before  that  I  had  thought  of  what  I  am  saying 
to-night,  and  I  would  not  have  you  kept  ignorant  of,our  pon- 
pact  I  thought  it  might  pave.the  way.  That  ï  shbuld  like  to 
please  her  is  true  once  more,  but  that  simply  to  please  her, 
or  to  will  her  fortune  I  am  speaking  to-n^ght,  Js  utterly>  wn- 
true,  is  utterly  impossible.-^  Not  the  weaith  of  ^e  wôrldf  if 
that  were  ail,  could  tempt  mç  to  say  to  àny  woman,  what  I"  , 
amïsaying  now  to  you. 

"  If  that  were  all,^'  she  slowly  repeàtts,  and  looks  from  the 
water  into  his  face.     **  What  elsë  can  there  be  ?  "  >    •     . 

"  Ah  !  what  indeed  1"  He  tams  from  ber,  and  lëans  his 
fbided  arms  upon  the  wall,  with  a  curiously  intense  l^ok  In 
his  blonde,  handsome  face.  "  If  you  do  not  know  what  elsè. 
Mademoiselle  Reine,  it  would  be  wasted  labor  for  me  to  tçll  . 
you.  But  this  I  do  tell  you — ^you  shall  certainly  not  accépt 
me,  hating' me  !" 

"  I  do  not 'hâte  you." 

"  No  ?  Then  what  is  it?  For  you  assuredly  do  not  like 
me.  The  look  your  face  wore  when  I  first  spoke  I  shall  not 
speedily  îorget."  •     •  \    ~ 

"  Listen,  Monsieur  Longworth,"  says  Reine,  in  a'softened 
voice,  "  and  fprgive  me  if  I  pain  you.  When  I  x:ame  hère 
first,  and  heard  from  Madame  Windsor  that  we  owed  our 
coming  to  you—all  to  you,  her  bounty,  her  home,  eVerything 
— î  àià  hâte  you.  ït  wâs  wrong,  î  know,  unjust  I  know, 
but  ail  thesame  I  detested  you.  I  am  not  very  good;  I 
am  proud,  and  quick-tempered,  and  self-willécL    Ob,  I  knon 

\10*  /—A 


:;q 


'  (KsAs'^'ilii.i^-S  ,     . 


l-^i'A: 


e^f^ilfiî^i^  ï'irAi'     -.  .  ^ 


^3^ 


ilssmsm 


■KRMM 


•mU. 


il 


*# 


b 


>■*    . 


226 


**THR  WOOTNG  OT.'* 


it  well,  bu^  I  strove  with  the  feelin^,  and  it  wore  awa)-. 
Then  came  that  other  day  Tîirhen*,grandmamma  told  us  of 
'  your  compact  Hôw  we  were  to  staqd  oflF  and  wait  for  you 
to  ch»^  between  u^  apd  accept  y^ou  humbly  when  you 
asked,  or  refuse  and  go  out  to  bej^gary  >  Oh  I  it  was  hard,  it 
was  shamefui,  and  ail  thé  old  hatetame  back,  and  I  think  I 
would  hâve  kilïed  ypu  almost,  if  I  could.  I  am  a  very  pas- 
sionate  and  wicked  giri,  I  tell  you  again." 

••Poor  child  1"   he  sayé,  half  to  himself,-  "I  don'l  blâme 
you.     It  was  natural." 

"Butthis  ako  wore  away~in  part,"  Reine  continues,  a 
tremorin  heir  voice  as^  she  bears  that  half  spoken  murmur, 
"I  could  not  altogether  despise  you,  try  as  I  would.    You 
are  a  good  and  generous  raan— oh  I  let  me  say— and  who 
can  fail  to  respect  goQdrtess.    And  I  made  up  my  mind  that 
if  you  asked  me  I  would  try  and  mafce  the  best  of  it  and  say- 
yes  quietly.      I  am  not  a  brave  girl,  monsieur  ;   I  hâve 
always  been  cared  for  and  cherished,  and  the  thought  of  be- 
ing  tumed  on  the  world  alone  and  poor,  was  terrible.  .  There 
was  Marie,  too,  I  bad  to  think  of  her.    So  ï  made  up  my  mind 
to  say  yés  i?  you  spoke,  and  offend  you  no  more.    BuP  when 
you  came— and  sitting  hère  alone  I  was  thinking  of  France 
—oh,  my  France  i  "— she  stretches  out  her  arms,  a  heart  sob 
in  every  word— "and  it  ail  tooTc  me  so  by  surprise  that  I 
was  shocked,,and  you  saw  it.     But  that  is  overnow,  and  I 
bave  shown  you  my  heart  as  the  good  God%ees  it.     And  if   '■^- 
you  go  to  nnadame;  my  grandmothpr,  and  tell  her  you  can-     ' 
not  take  me,  it  will  only  serve  me  right." 

The  impassioued  voice  ceases,  and  the  silence  that  followi 
is  long.     lAx.  Longworth  breaks  it  at  last. 

"  It  is  for  the  home  and  the  foBtune  you  consent  to  marry 
me  then?    Onlythis?"     ^  - 

— «lOnly  this.    What  cl«c  could  there  be  ?  '^ 


Again  silence.    Ag^  Mr.  Longworth  speaks  in  a  curi 
ously  cohstrainecf  voice.  .         v 


■ . ,  i^A,*'>i 


**TÈS  WOOING  OT.» 


221 
You  are 


<  You  do  not  absolutely  disUke  me,  you  say  ? 
sure  of  that>| 

?•  I  am  (juit^  sure.  If  I  owed  you  less  I  might  like  you 
more."  % 

"  You  mean  if  I  had  not  refused  to  rob^  yoii  and  your 
siçter  of  yourbirthri'ght,  if  I  had  not  pleaded  with  your  grand- 
raother  to  do  you  a  simple  act  of  justice,  if  I  had  not  closed 
at  once  with  her  wish  that  I  should  marry  you,  closing  with 
my  own  at  the  samie  time,  you  mean  that  you  might  even 
like  me?" 

"  Yes,  monsieur,"  she  sayS'  frankly,  and  at  the  absurdity  of 
it  she  half  smiles,  "^  mean  that.  For  it  would  not  be  so 
hard  to — to  like  you,  I  think." 

"  WelV  he  says,  "  thèse  are  my  crimes.  '  I  stand  arraigned 
and  must  plead  guilty.  I  must  also^  as  you  do  not  absolutely 
dislike  me,  péril  your  good  opinion  still  further  by  persisting  ; 
in  wishing  to  marry  you.  It  sounds  like  a  paradox  some- 
how,"  he  says,  a  smile  breaking  up  the  gravity  of  his'  face. 
"  You  are  quite  certain,  mademoiselle,  you  do  not  wish  me 
to  give  you  up  ?  1  will  do  it  if  you  say  so." 
;  "  Indeed  I  do  not  !  "  she  answers,  with  almost  sj^tling 
caador.   '  "  I  shôuld  be  very  sorry  if  you  did." 

"I  would  not  marry  an  ummlling  wife,"  says  Mr.  Long- 
.,|K)rth  steadily.     '^We  are  situated  so  oddiy,  I  hardly  know  ' 
what  to  do — ^you  unwilling,  yet  wilîing.     Perhaps  when  the 
time  comes,  you  may  give  yourself  to  me  of  your  own  free 
will.     And  until  you  can,  our  wedding-day  must  be  put  off." 

"  Our  wedding-day  !  "  She  thrills  and  shrinks  under  his 
look,  under  the  solemn  meaning  pf  thèse  words. 

."  We  stand  plightéd  now,"  and  as  he  says  it  he  takes  her 

hand,  "  and  I  will  wait  with  what  patience  I  may.     If  the 

day  ever  arrives  when  you  can  put  both  your  hands  in  nùue, 

-Wce  ihia,  and  «ay,  ^LameiKîe,  I  love  your^ad  can  never  l«t^ 


^- 


you  goT  then  I  will  thank  Heaven  for  my  happmess,  and 
daim  you.    If  it  never  comes — ^if,  as  time  goes  on,  your  dis 


i\ 


/* 


'^'m 


Â%  l 


hf 


JMJijjjW  •'  <— 


r 


TWE  irootifà  0>T.' 

hiisl  of  me  goe,  çn,.  tc^,  (!,„  be  surs  I  wjll  koow  it,  and  be 

the  first  to  break  the  bond  we  are  binding  now  "       '    ™  °* 

He  releases  the  hands  he  holds,  and  Reine  fee],.  with  à 

so  t  of  wonder  a.  herself,  ,ha.  her  eyea  are  looking  a,  him 

fo  "h™        ""       '"^  '^™'  '*^'  "•""'•  «'^»«'.  ""e.  1^ 

She  descends  from  the  wall,  and  takes  the  arm  he  offe,^ 

Reine    f       f  '  /!  "^'^     "^«™^I  »»>'  ""   y- 

Ke.ne,  free  from  prefix?    I.  i,  the  pretUes.  na™e  in 'the 

"Surely,"  she  a^swers,  readily, 

^  It  wôuld  be  asking  too  rauch,  I  suppose,  to  ask  you  to 
call  me  Laurence  ?"  *-*-,*/«»  yox^  m 

She  smiles  and  shakes  her  head. 
;;  I  am  afraid  so.     And  yet  it  is  an  easy  name  to  say." 
M^wir;^    Ithink  au  wiU  corne  intime.    Ma/l  tell 

-^t  ail  be  told.  I  I  hate^yes,  I  abhor  secrets  1  " 
Some  of  the  old  passion  rings  in  her  voice.     He  looks  at  ' 

S!^y  L"  he^.  ''  ''  '''"  '"""  *^  ***^^^^  Little  Queen 

"Then  I  wiU  tell  her  to-moirow,"  he  answers.    And  so' 
.U8pe,«<î  is  over,  and  Reine  LandeUe  is  woed  aai  wai. 


•K. 


i'^t.:..t-?^-,.',:>i.^v.;:-',»;,^ 


.  -;.,.-  .;..,.'■,  ';.!',.  ■  'ii.  '  -  '^  ■ ., 


I^ij^ 


.lii^ÀK^'^ --.  i  fe.^'.' 


viiH 


•^VERY BH5T  THJNG  jir ALL  TUS  WORLD.**     239 


CHAPTER  XVII. 


"fHE  VERY  BEST  THINO  IN  ALL  THE  WORLD." 


\ 


} 


|HE  croquet  players  are  ail  togetl^ér,  laughfng  and 
talking  in  the  moonlight,  When  Longworth  rejoins 
them.  Reine  has  slipped  io^through  ao  open  winh 
dow,  and  as  he  appears  the  first  notes  of  the  lancers  hxtak^ 
on  their  ears. 

♦*  Really,  Laurence,"  says  Mrs.  Sheldon,  looking  at  him 
with  searching  eyes,  "  how  very  long  it  has  taken  you.  Wero 
you  obliged  to  go  to  Miss  Hariott's  to  find. Mlle.  Reine?" 

"  Not  quite  so  far.'  Will  you  dance  with  me,  Totty  ?  I 
see  they  are  forming  the  set." 

AU  the  rest  of  the  evening  Reine  remains  at  the  piana 
When  the  lamps  are  lighted  and  they  flock  in,  tired  and 
breathle^s  with  the  sheer  hard  work  of  dancing  on  the  grass, 
she  still  retains  the  piano-stool,  and  begini  to'sîng  unasked. 

£ven  Mrs.  Shéldon,  who  dislikes  her  and  is  instinctively 
jealous  of  her — who  thinks  her  small,  and  plain,  and  unattrao 
tive— is  forced  to  own  that  a  plain  woman  with  a  divine 
voice  may  be  a  formidable  rival.  And  Longworth,  leaning 
against  the  chimney-piece,  sipping  his  iced  lemonade  and 
talking  to  Marie,  is  lixtening  to  the  sister'who  sings  fâr  more 
than  to  the^sister  who  talks— that  she  can  see. 

Once  only  does  he  and  Reine  exchange  a  word  again  thaï 
evening.  He  knomi  she  keeps  her  piano  post  to  avoid  him, 
and  hft  doea  Ilôt  appioach  her^-  The  parly  breaks  upearly, 


ati4  h«  is  the  last  ctf  ail  to  draw  iiear  and  wish  her  good- 
oi|bti    Thfirtt  il  a  certain  wistfulnesi  in  his  eyes,  but  h«rf 


^fr- 


,'«. 


v.*-.^*^*'*'' 


*A  -  ■* 


^-  ..Qh^.  ^  ^'"^''''   P"'"«    Reine,"    he    savs    w;^h 
"Shallyou  beat  home  fftm«  .^'   '^"'»    »    sinile, 

.„^^      L  ^'  Monsieur  Lonjrworth  "  cK- 

«udden  hurry  ;  «  there  is  just  one  thifJ  t     •  u         "^^^  '^'^ 

Marie  must  hâve  half     It  ttf-T  "°'  «^°  ^°  y°"-^^* 
and  looks  for  the  first' tim    l'i  hfm  'aT  k'"T'"  ^'^  ^^^ 

" Oh I  confound  the  monev  1"  In'  u  '"  ^^'  ^^^^ 

ward^vagexy.     «  BeC  g^.avetT"^^'^  "'^'^ - 
were  a  beggar.     Even  thi!  ^m2  thinT   r  ^'t    ^"'^^^ 

"  Grandmamma  will  listen"  n  .?  «         «^  "o^hing  else." 
"I  think  you  ,vi,l  find  hefCpS^^^       mademoiselle, 
«eur.     I  am  quite  sure-lnT^  '"  ^°"'"  ^'^«'^e*  "^on- 

'  n^ust  ask  Ma,?e.»  "^  ^^^>^  "^^-^^aHy-she  thinks  y^ 

-       "Mademoiselle,"  he  sav«    «t 
thing.     Down  yonder  in  Z      l  *""  ''""°"'  ^^°"'  so'^e 
^*adto  be  o.jfZ^^^^^^^    ^Sinceit 

com.dered,  it  strik^s  me  that  las  ratier  ,  .         '  ^""'"^'^^^ 
"A  bold  one  perhaos  mon  u  """""^"^  speech." 

«w-ii  P    "^P^'^^^nsieurthinks?" 

well-no,  since  there  is  but  one  wav  of  i„. 

Yourgreat  love  foryour  sister  mak^^^^l'    ''?''''"«  *'• 

Precisdy  what  Imeant    Do  nra;k  1^^     '"'  ''  '^  »«'     .■ 
promise  to  teU  you."     "'  "*  «ow-^ne  day  I     * 

"I  wonder.when  that  dayjrill  mn,.M  u. 
agam^^  piano,  and  lookingCwTaT  h  "Y"»  '*^*"*"« 

any  o^cS^  think  that  spiritXiw       r"'  ^°"^«"»«  ^ow 


7  »  mu  tf  Mrs.  Windsor  had  not  a  penny, 


"i  i'  "■■■.; 


,     ,      V      »   .*'ip.j,.,j^^^" 


.f»'< 


.^».^  "t  •  ^  >,  C>     '^<  )^\ 


1.     :■::■■ 


**VERYBEST  THING  IN ALL  THE  WORLD}*      231 

if  shc  hated  me,  and  would  cast  you  oflf  for  accepting  me,  I 
would  still  hâve  spoken — ay,  and  said  far  more  than  I  hâve 
said  to  you%)-night.     I  wonder  if  I  could." 

Reine  iooksuip  at  him,  tfie  old  distrust  and  doubt,  almost 
aversiop^dn  her  gaze. 

"Mr.  Longworth,"  she  says,  frigidly,  "I  hâve  accepted 
yoi.  X  am  ready  to  marry  you  ;  I  do'liot  dislike  you,  and  I 
own  you  an  honorable  gentleman.  Is  anything  more  neces^ 
sary  ?  Beliey;i:  me  I  do  not  expect  fine  speeches  from  you. 
I  would  much  rather  not  hâve  them.  They  force  me 
to  doubt  your  sincerity — and  I  would  rather  think  you  sin- 
cere." 

'^You  certainly  understand  plain  speaking,"  he  says,  draw- 
,  ing  a  hard  breath,  but  half  laughing.     "  Suppose— only  for 
curiosity's^ke— suppose  I  told  you  1  was  in  love  with  you  ? 
Would  you  believe  that  ?" 

"  Most  certainly  not,  monsieur." 

"  And  why  ?^  A  man  might  fail  in  love  with  you,  might  he 
not,  Mlle.  Reine  ?  " 
v||  "I  do  not  know  why  we  are  talking  nonsense,"  replies 
Mlle.  Reine,  looking  at  hira  with  brightly  angry  eyes.  "  You 
often'do,  I  know  ;  but  this  is  hardly  a  time  or  thème  for  jest. 
We  will  leave  love  eut  of  the  question,  if  you  please,  once 
and  for  ail  You  will  speak  to  Madame  Windsor  when  apd 
how  you  choose,  but  thèse  are  the  terms  upoa  which  I  ac» 
cept  you — that  half  her  fortune  goes  to  Marie." 

"  Good-night,  Mlle.  Reine,"  he  says,  brusquely,  and  bows 
and  tums  to  go.  But  she  lays  one  hand  on  bis  sleeve,  and 
«miles  in  his  face.  V  ' 

"  Now,  I  bave  made  you  angry,  ab'd  ail  because  I  would 
not  talk  sentimental  nonsense.  Americans  «Iways  shake 
hands  when  they  sày  good-ni^t,  dp  they  not  ?    Indeed  you 


V 


I  think.     Let  us  shake  harâdsir 


are  aiways  st 
Monsieur  Laurence."  '  ^ 

He  laughs  and  obeys,  and  she  goes  with  him  to  the  doo| 


LSAj-tiJ'J 


■if.'-  il 


r-*-^*^ 


''■•j/^tr' 


StlII  smili'n»..j.-      ..  _  ^^ 


still  smiling  radiantly.     Js  sh«  ^      ,     • 

'^onders.        .         ^l    ^'  ^^'^  devcIopi„g  coquetr,r,  Joo  ?  h. 

«^     ^      .'  J"«  «  lew  women  possess.» 

The  day  shall  come-that  I  swear    wh        u 

also  fo. ^,i,,  her ToL t;;^^ ,r  '^^-"^  ^o  «>b  W,  buî 

oward  the  grly  Stone  Cs^  H?f  T  ^'  ^""'^  ^'^  ^^«P» 
t-ng  alone,  in  her  favorite  roL        ^""^  ^"-  ^^"<^«>'-  «t- 
white  hands  fold,d ,„  ^black 'siî  Ï"  T"^^  "^'^-^  h- 
he  py  su^i^er  evening  ouL't     Jo  "'    "  ''"  '^'^^  °" 
« Wg  greets  him  as  he  d«T  Lr       ^^'^  »"  ^•«'^'  ««'««t 
•ense  of  bJanknessand  diSl;„.     '  '  ""^  ^^  ^^*^^«  *  «="riou. 

Mrs.  Windsor  welcom^Thr^    î""'  '"  ^'^^  ^^^^ 
-fferingfromsligirtrd^^^^^^^^ 

to  «ce  her  this  evening.^       ^^  ^°'«*^"  '^''>' ^e  has  corne 

*♦  Why  not  this  evening  ?"  th«  „,„„ 
«*  the  young  ladiea  ?  »  «"tienian  mquires.  "  Wltere 

"Ohitobesnrelth^^r  ^**"'*«°-" 

.   'Thomhasshegone^H        '*»*«k  Reine.    %  the  way,  witl» 

P»e;x:ingly  uppn  him,  ™^?^î*^*«'^»  •?«•««  ûwd 

/'Youmeantto  ask  Refee^aiZrf,,»^  ,  — ^ 

IWrehendyou«^,^^j^^  «Da 


^-af*-  t?»  /t-rf 


*u' 


'  '  "\ 


V 


I 


/ 


■li-«fe#-/  ■■•^' 


■m- 


4 

V 

t: 

' 

- 

**VERYBEST  Tffl^c  IN  Al  THE  WORLD.-      2%% 

"Reine.     Congratukte  me,  my  lar  ina<fex„,  and  consent 
to  receive  me  into  your  faimlv      lL  n,\,h/r  ^^««"t 

was  acccpted/'  ^'       ]^  "'«^''^  ^  Proposed,  and 

nightl     Not  to— surely  not  to ^ 

"  Heine.     Of  course  to  Reine,     it  appeare  to  me  I  con 
cealed  my  .ntentionb  well,  or  every  L  hL  been  ZlZy 
bhnd.     WI,en  we  talked  togetber  tit  night,  cominffrom 
the  picnu:^  I  meant  to  offer  myself  tl  your  yoùnJifir  ^ 
^^f  to  either.    And  I  a.  haUto  til,^^^ 

-  "Laurence,"  Mrs.  Windsor  says,    n  slow  wonder    «do 
you  mean  to  tell  me  you  are  in  love  Jith  L?»  '       ' 

"Madam,  excuse  me.     That  is  a  question  your  grand- 

her  first  of  alL  Will  .t  not  suffice  that  I  hâve  asked  her  to 
marry  me,  and  she  has  answered  yes  ?"  • 

"1  feel  bewildered,;'  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  and  she  boks  it. 

rather  suUen-tempered  girl,  without  attractiveness  of  any  sor^ 
except  good  t^e  in  dress  and  a  finc.voice,  when  you  mS^ 
h^e  had  ra.e  beauty,  gi^ce,  and  sweetness.    This  expiât, 

eveiywhere.     And  you  really  prefer  Reine  ?  " 

kH^J^^'T"^  '^f^''^  "^  '""•  Of  course,  you  must  prefer 
he  ,  or  you  would  riot  âsk  her.  But,  Uur*4e,  the  girl  do^. 
not  even  like  you."  »  "  «  ë«"  «oci 

"That  IS  my  great  misfortune.    It  shall  be  th.  l«w  «r 
ihduce 


my 


1      -df spair  of  succès»  in  time.'^ 


'  change  her  mind.    I.do 


not 


^^^^^^^^^^wm^^^^^^r^ 


i'- 


«Whftt?'» 


•z^'- 


^1 


* 


A  i 


-     / 


iiftÉS'jBWf 


"'■■■•'-->  ■^■'\''--V-''-'f^*i^^ 


^y^-^-^'m 


f:--- 


r  MJ 


334      **yEJi.Y BEST  Tjfmj  mALL  THE  WORLD.*    . 

"  The  wedding,  of  course;" 
•  "  Sonrewhere  in  the  dim  aiid  shado«ry,futurê.  When  Mlle. 
Reine  dops  me  the  honor  to  Qvercome  her  aversion  and-, 
well,  lelWis  say,  begins  to  tolerate  me.  ^ot  an  hour  before- 
thM  is  the  express  stipulation.  I  hâve  yoor  consent  and  ak 
proval,  madam,  I  présume  ?  "        -        -  f 

.  " Undoubtedly,  but  I  wish  it  had  been  Mane.  Reine!  I 
cannot  realiz^  it .  I  never  thought  of  her  as  your  wife.  r  am 
confounded."/ 

_"No  douhL.  Qçe's  choice  invariably  confounds  one'a 
fnends.-  But  I  hâve  chosen,  and  ara  not  likely  to  change 
my  mmd.  If  ï  ^çan  win  Mlle.  Reine's  goodopiniôn  after  a 
little  beheve  me  I  shall  consider  myself  a  mosl  fortunate 
man."       ^  ^ 

"I  think  you  must  be  la  love  with  her,?  iays  Mrs.  Wind-  ' 
sor,  thoughtfuUy,  and  a  conscious  smile  çomes  inta  Long, 
worth's  face.     "  What  shall  1  sày  to  her  when  she  returns  ? 
l'or  1  am  sure  l'do  not  knowr." 
--      "3Vhat  you  would  say  to  'Marie  in  her  place.    And 
madam,"  he  says,  hlirriedly,  «I  wish  you  would  try  to  lildl 
her.     Beheve  me,  it  is  a  héart  of  gold.    A  lirtle  kindnesa 
from  you  wiU  go  a  great  way.  and  she  needs  kindness,  poor 

"  Hâve  I  beeii  unkind  to  her  ?»  Mrs.  Windsor  says,  in 
proud  surprise  ;  «has  she  beeq  complaining  ?  " 

"  You  know  that  she  has  not.  And  while  we  are  on  this 
subject,  pardon  my  asking  if  you  hâve  destroyed  th^  will,  of 
which  you  spoke  to  me  before  they  came  ?  "       Vî  , 

"  I  hâve  not,"  she  returns,  in  the  same  cold  vitce. 

"Then  I  beg  you  to  do  it  Make  another,'  ând  give 
Mane  her  fair  share.  Or  make  none,  and  let  the  law  divide. 
]t  is  presumptuous  in  me  to  'speak^tj  you  of  this,  but  I  think 
you  will  not  misunderstand  my  motive." 

**    ^ . ^±M a 


^'4-itm  tio^iifcdrm     You  m^eû  proved  yourself  abuiw 
daotly  disinterested.    I  wiU  think  of  whaf  you  say  ;  no  doub 


'Ji^.i 


z>.» 


hen  M ll<t. 
on  ànd— •  ' 
before — 
it  and  apu 

Reinel  I 

ife.   fam      / 

idé  one*!  - 
>  change 
n  after  a 
brtunate 

■s.  Wind- 
o  Long, 
returns  ? 

!.    An<J, 

to  likjl 

cindness 

ss,  poor 

says,  in 

on  this 
will,of 


d  give 
divide. 
Ithink 


'  abun* 
>  doub 


'^^«y  BEST  THINO  IN  ALI  THE  WORtD.'     235 
t::^  "'"  '"'"  '"""^  J"'""-     A«  XO»  «"■■-g.  I-a»- 

■  Thl^"""''  ^?''"'  "^''''^^^  *^  ^°"^^^t  for  ^n  hour'  at  least 
risef  r;;;f  ^,^^f-"     ^^  ^^^  l»-  hand  ^s  Se 

n^ver,  I  thmk,  with  qu^e  the  same  dépth  of  gratitude  \.  to. 

"  You  owe  me  nothing  hère,"  she  returns  with  far  lésa 
cord.al^than  «suàl.     «I  never  thought  of  this      B^^  >«« 

nijht^' ''  '  '™'"''  '  shall  not-let  it  endasit  may.     Good- 

"Hows«reet  are  the  congratulations  of  friands  .«"ihinks 

i^bTlr'^-^'^r  '^^'^"'^  ^'^•^  ^«-  "Andthis 
wi*h  L  .  f;,";."^  °^  "^^  ""^  '  ^^  ^  ^^^  f*»en  in  love 
wuh  Marie's  doll  face  and  doU's  soW.  ail  wouW  hâve  been  ' 

cZir 'alf  »;  ^"  ^  ?°°^^  ^  '  ^V  or  noble  nature.^ 
P  rrHttl.  f  — ',  "^'^  complexion  is  dark,  and  that 
hir  ''"!\^^^\^"-«g"»«-.  and  she  is  ônly  five  feet  four  in 
her  very  highest-heeled  shoes,  every  one  will  fa»  into  a 
tranèe  of  wonder.  As  if  goodness  and  greatness  were 
:"  '^  the  yard,  or  dia.nonds  sold  ly  the  LZ 

Mr.  Longworth  puts  in  an  appearance  at  the  concert,  and 

Rdn/r'ln"'"^''''"^  ^'^  Hester  Hariott  and  MlL 

devotedly  over  Mane?    He  has  not  put  his  fate  to  th^ 

^ch  yet,  Longworth  sees ,  his  case  is  so  desperat^  Z 

«take  ,s  Bs,  unmense.  that  he  tums  coward  and  dare  not  be 

imit,  and  Frank,  who  never  practiced  patience  before,  is 
ieatmffthii*«.,»ueo<Mrt<^ttsfîiltesir 


jHas  Reine  told  you?"  Longworth  asks,  ashe  stands 
lewing  over  Hester  Hariqtf  s  little  white  gâte.    They  hâve 


,'l>. 


*'  l'/^i:' 


*36  ,     **VEàYBEST  THING  IN ALL  THE  WORLD» 

left  Reine  home,  and  he  has  sauntered  back  with  the  eliet 
lady  to  the  cottage. 

Lany,  what  hâve  you  been  about ?" 
-  A  pièce  of  folly,  I  dare  say,  if  the  truth  were  known. 
Askmg  your  Liule  Queen  to  many  me." 

She  stands  silent  She  loves  Reine.  She  tells  herself  «he 
bas  wished  for  th,s  ;  but  Longworth  is  her  friend,  and  when  a 
ftiend  marnes,  his  friendship  mus.t  end.  And  with  ail  her  love 
for  Reme,  it  is  a  moment  before  Hester  Hariott  can  «peik» 
And  so  I  lose  my  friend  I  Well,  I  am  glad."  She 
draws  a  long  breath,  and  holds  out  her  hand.  «  Yea.  Lau- 
rence," she  says  resolutelv,  «I  am  glad.  Youwin  a  treasure 
m  wmnmg  Reme  Landelle." 

"AhJ  but  I  haven'twon  her--at  least  not  yet.  I  hâve 
only  asked  her  to  marry  me-^uiie  another  thing,  you  under- 
stand.  Hester,  you  are  her  chosen  friend,  you  kno«r  her 
well— tell  me  if  I  hâve  any  hope." 

«  I  wiU  not  tell  you  one  Word.     Find  out  for  youwelf.     / 
am  not  afraid  of  your  man's  vanity  ever  lettîng  you  despair. 
Lu«e  sUent  witch  I     To  thitik  how  confidential  we  were  hère 
ail  the  aftemoon,  talking  of  you  too,  and  that  she  should  never 
bieftthe  a  Word  1" 

<'What  were  you  saying  of  me  ?  "     ^ 
^«Nothing  you  wUl  ever  hear.     What  doc.  Grandmother 

"  Many  things,  the  prindpal  being  «he  would  rather  it 
were  Mane,  and  that  she  gives  consent  " 

"  Marie  I  "  repeats  Miss  Hariott  «  Do  you  Icnow.  I^ 
rence,  I  do  not  quite  comprehend  MUe.  Mafie.  She  le^mt 
ail  right  enough,  and  Reine  adore»  her.  She  is  gentle,  and 
smihng,  and  tix»  serene-tempered  by  half  for  my  taste  ;  but  I 
«nnot  see  through  her.    I  don't  know  what  underhes  it  alL 


Rsw«^i84»aspairent  a^e^yirtri,    StiiH-ireirdëriHi^ 


«M  not  the  one  you  chose." 


V<    ■:. 


s,"  '>  V 


**VERVttESTTHmGmALLèilBWORLD»      2^ 

"  Of  course  yoto  do  !  I  hâve  made  up  my  «jind  to  lear 
that  from  every  one  I  know.  Perhaps  being  expected  to 
^ootfe  one^  the  natural  contrariety  of  man,  made  me  sélect 
the  otber.  There  goes  eleven;  I  won't' keep  you  hère 
ail  night.  Good-by.  i  hâve  your  good  wishcs,  I  sup- 
pose?" *^ 

**  My  very  best  wjshes.     Good-night.V 

She  stands  ,until  he  hâs  dtsappeared,  unttl  the^last  ring  of 
Ws  footsfeps  dies  away,  then  she  turns  with  a  sigh.  \  ^'' 

"  And  80  k  ends  i  Well,  it  W«s  pkasant  while  it  lasted, 
and  nothing  lasts  forever  ;  life's  pleasant  things  least  of  ail. 

••  •  Nothiiig  can  be  as  it  has  been  before, 
Better  so  call  it,  only  not  the  same— ' 

better,  no  donbt,  and  since  it  had  to  be  i,  am  glad  it  is 
Reine.  Pretty  little  dark-eyed  Queen  !— she  baght  to  be 
happy  as  Longï^orth's  wife." 

Matrimonial  news  flics  apace— hot  even  «lisfortafie  Aies 
faster.  Before  the  end  of  two  days  ail  Baymouth  knows  that 
Mr.  Longworth  of  the  Phénix  and  Miss  Reine  Landelte  are 
engaged.  And  every  one  is  astonished. 
•  *•  Reine!"  crie*' the  ^ox  populi.  "My  dear,  are  yo« 
,  sure  ?  Reine  is  the  younger,  you  know,  and  not  at  ail  prett^ 
^slight,  acd  dark,  and  rather  thin.  It  must  certainly  be 
theother."  .  / 

But.  it  is  not  the  other,  and  "  stifl  U  spreads,  and  still  the 
wonder  grew." 

"To  choose  the  younger  when  he  «right  hâve  had  the 
other  ^  By  Jove  f  "  crie»  the  mate  vox  f^fmli,  «  Longworth 
always  wa»  an  odd/fish-^no  other  fellow  would  do  it  Still 
she's  a  nice  litUe  thii^,  with  a  magnificent  pair  of  eywS,  and 
a  stunnhïg  voîce.    Whar  %  pot  of  money  he^lj  get  with  her 


-iuchjF  dog^  thar  Longworth;     Son^t^H^way.  fall^ 
'     Iheir  feet  Kke  cats  j  he-s  one.    Lost  oae  fortune  for  love, 
Hît  wmma&  aaotbtv->..èuseé  bf  a  haw^cf  flie  dog  that  bit 


I'.; 


Il-  !-' 


n 


OnMVMW 

s* 


M 


f 


'MSm,m:ii»>m- 


•■  y>' 


238       **VERYBEST THING IN ALL  THE  WORLD» 

him.     I  suppose  he's  in  love  with  her,  though,  'gad,  Inever 
sawr  any  sign  of  it." 

It  spread  far  and  near.  Ladies  call  at  the  Stone  House. 
and  speak  delicately  to  Mrs.  Windsor,  and  hear  rumor  con- 
«firmed  m  headquarters.  Reine  is  the  chosen  one,  no  doubt 
*?  *''*^-  '^^^3^  ^ook  at  the  sisters.  curiously,  as  if  beholdinir 
then,  for  the  first  time  ;  both  are  eminently  cool.  sërene! 
and  self-collected.  Marie's  faint,  sweet  laugh  is  sweet  and 
ready  a|  ever,  Reine's  dark  eyes  are  steady  and  unembar- 
rassed.  No  jealousy  exists  between  them,  thatis  évident^ 
My^y  understand  each  other  perfectiy  j  ail  may  see  that. 

The  news  Aies  to  Mrs.  Longworth  in  its  very  first  flight 
and  circulâtes  among  the,  boarders.  Frank's  eyes  flash  with 
delight,  he  wrings  his  cousin's  hand  with  a  grip  that  makes 
its  owner  wince,  and  congratulâtes  him  with  a  sincerity  there 
can  be  no  niistakirtg.  Congratulations  rain  upon  him 
mdeed,  and  last  of  ail  cômes  Mrs.  Sheldon  extending  her 
white  hand,  and  rather  shifting  away  from  the  gaze  of  his 
blue  piercing  eyes. 

"Your  choice  has  surprised  us,"  she  says;  «we  ail  ex- 
pected  it  would  be  Marie.  But  naturally  your  taste  has 
changed,  and,  as  >  blonde  man,  you  prefer  brunettes.  She 
W.11  be  very  rich,  and  I  am  sure  it  is  4  most  désirable 
match."  ' 

"Thanks,  Totty,"  responds  Mr.  LonStirorth.  «As  you 
say,  it  is  a  most  désirable  match,  and  even  you  raust  con- 
sider  Mlle.  Reine's  prospective  riches  as  the  very  le^st  of 
âll  her  attractions." 

He  leaves  her^mewhat  abruptly,  and  goes  out  on  the 
stoop,  where  his  sub^editor  sits  smoking  an  after-dinne^  pipe 
and  lookmg  unusually  grave.  Contraiy  to  custom,  O'Sulli. 
van  has  not  been  the  first  to  wish  him  joy-has  not  wished 
nun  10V  at  ail,  in  ' 


■^^Pi:  at_all,  in  fact.    Longworth  approaches,  and  ^artt 
him  on  thf  shoulder.  *  .  . 

«  Saht,  O'SuUivan  1— son  of  a  hundred  kiag^-^monturi  k 


X    ■ 


»>,- 


'.  A~-#i^*"-*-^*.  -^-^Hè-f^^^-ii  ''Jhj'j^màf^'''"' 


.•!'!*:• 


>FBW;« 


-fAtcpr 


■     ;*        .       ■  .  ■  . 

**VERy  BEST  TUmC  IN ALL  THE  WORLD.**      239 

salUtant  !  Wlien  ail  are  offering  good  wishes,  why  sit  you 
hère  silent  and  glum,  the  jdeath's  head  at  thç^ banquet  ?  It's 
not  like  you,  O.     Corne,  man,  speak  up  !  " 

*♦  Among  sô  many,"  says  Mr.  O'SuUivan,  dryly,  "  you  can 
Kwr  îly  dispense  with  mine.  But  I  wish  ye  luck,  chief — I  do^ 
indeed.  She's  a  jewel,  and  you're  a  trump,  and  upoij  me 
life  l'm  glad  you've  got  her.  But  faith  I  thought  it  was  to 
bc  the  other." 

Longworth  groans.  N 

"And  thou  Brutus  1  Go  to  !  If  that  has  been  saîd-fo me 
once,  It  has  bçen  one  thousand  times  in^the  last  two  days. 
Upon  my  word;  it  is  growing  too  much,  and  l'il  havfc  to 
brain  thfc  very  ïîext  who  says  it." 

He  takes  his  way  to  Miss  Hariott's,  where  the  sisters  and 
Frank  Dexter  are  also  due.  Thère  has  _been  a  very  senti- 
mental and  féminine  interview  between  Miss  Hariott  jind 
'  Mlle.  Reine,  in  which  the  younger  maiden  has  flung ,  her- 
self  into  the  elder  maiden's  armsin  a  sudden  outburst  very 
unusual  with  her,  and  during. which  the  elder  has  shed  some 
tears,  also  very  unusual  with  her,  A  number  of  kisses  hâve 
been  exchanged,  sundry  good  wishes  given  and  received, 
but  after  ail  very  little  has  been  said,  and  Mlle.  Reine  holds 
her  virgin  heart.  and  ail  that  it  contains  well  in  her  own 
keeping.  Some  day  Longworth  may  see  it,  but  Miss  Hari- 
ott opiner  despondently  that  day  is  still  âfar  off. 

.They  sit  out  under  the  trees  as  usu^l,  and  drink  tea  out 
of  Miss  Hariott's  china  cûps,  while  the  gray  of  the  evening 
wears  apace.  Frank  is  close  to  hi.^  liège  lady's  side  ;  Miss 
Hariott  and  Longworth  talk  "shop,"  literature,  and  journal- 
tsm;  and  Reine,  by  herself,  peruses  a  new  nàirel.  Frank 
watches  the  newly-betrSthfid  "with  '  quizzical  eyes,  directs 
M&rie's  attention,  and  finally  ^peaks.     -      •>         ., 

**  Welj4\jcff~ft--pair  of  4HiBstul  anct  freshiy^^eiigageo  love 
comment  me  to  Longwortb  and  Mlle.  Reine.     With  what 
dOnmess  th,<;^  meet,  with  wfaat  conapo^ure  they  part;  the 


'f 


y 


(•  - 


*  y 


:  M 


■-— -^^^, 


y7:^~-slï 


';^*. 


M 


\ 


«40      **yERlt'\BÈST  THltfG  m ALL  THE  WORLD,^ 

mannersof  Mh  hâve  ail  thc  lofty  repose  th*t  marks  tiiif 
caste  of  Vere  de  Vere.    Such  a  word  as  spooning  i»  \al 
known  in  their  vocabulary.     1  wonder  how  Long^orth  pio-  . 
posed.     I  wish  J  had  been  near  ;  I  require  a  lesson^  and  it 
fiust  hâve  beenirichnes»  tû  bear  htm." 

"  You  lequM  Bo  lessc^  in  easy  and  natinral  impertinence 
at  least,  yonng   mon/'    says    Miss    Hariott,   with    seveif*^ 
ity;    "  the  impudence  of  the  rising  génération  is  beyend  - 
belief."  ]  ■  .  , 

Marie  laughsJ  Heine  goes  on  with  her  «ov«l.  Long- 
worth  looks  impërturbaUe.  i 

"  There  is  %  Spanish.  proverb/'  continue»  M».  Dextef, 
unabashed,  "which  says,  «to  bè  urisc  and  love  exceeds 
man's  strength.'  I  Look  in-Larry's  face,  owl-like  in  its  impas- 
sive  wisdom,  aaid  crédit  it  who  can.  But  t^en,  there  arfc 
people  who  do  i^ot  beUeve  in  love.    Mlle.  Reine,  do  you  ?  " 

*' Yes,"  says  Bleine^  and  reads  on. 

"No  hope  tlker%"  pursues  /iFrank.  "Longworth, 'do 
you?*'  *" 

"Did  I  ever  say  I  didnot?"       ^ 

"Actions  speak  kjuder  tba»  m^  Some  içen  only  talk 
misogyny,  othera  act  it."  ^ 

,  "And  I  do  nteither.  Y<io  laay  hâve  my  credo,  Baby,  tf 
yoil  like.  I  believe  fit  love;  1  believe  it  to  be  the  only 
thing  in  Edeô  which  the  $in  of  Adam  did  not  destroy,  And 
I  do  not  speak  of  the  loye  of  faïher,  brother,  friend  ;  bat  of 
that  other  which  bas  been  jn  the  world  since  the  world  first 
began,  and  Adam  kx>ked  on  Eve  and  foiind  her  fair  ;  which 
gray  beards  and  wis«  héads  ignore  or  pass  with  a  sneer,  be- 
caase  their  own  (tey  hais  gone  and  left  them  bankrupt— the 
kwe  which  binds  m^  human  hearts  and  which  fire  cnmot 
burn  dtit,  nor  many  waten  drown,  nor  leâgues  of  land  sevef, 
»or  sigfcn«iii  chaniger  ao»  deatfa  gad  ;  which  wiH  gp  on  th« 


.  ':1^.. 


samc  fer  ail  time-^hri^  ok^  evter  new,  the  stf oiiges»  pa». 
•iQa.«MPtli  hi^âi--«i%btiW  Jh|HBi.|«t«y^or  «rarice^  Of  iiMn^  or 


^ 


gloiy,  or  ambition-which  ail  x\^t  çynics  tba;4c^  raUed  can 
neither  aller,  nor  banish,  nor  ignore."        / 

Fr^AÎ^lifts  hiraself  on  his  elbow  andAazes  in  a  sort  of 
stupéfaction  at  the  speaker.  / 

JIu^^\^  T^  '^"^  *^'^'"  ^"  «^^^in»*»  V^rhat  hâve  I 
frl  J      ?,        *.'''^'"'  «f '*"8^ge  ?  4s  thiLn  extract 

/%^«tjî  lefwder  for  to-morroVs  issue  ?  "  a 

"y<?u  ^^jedmy  opinion  and>u  hâve  it,  myBaby." 

-  .*  V  ^tJ  •  ^**"  ^f  "  "^*«"^"«'  ^"«-  Reine  ?  "  goes  on^Frank. 
.'^  Yes.  ^«e  you  hâve.  Wha^  do  ypu  think  of  this  éloquent 
and_^unprovok«d  outburst/    Are  those  your  sentimenti^ 

Jm    ^tT^  ^''T  wol^,"  responds  Reine,  with  ineffable 
c?^^'^!^''*''*  "  ^''^  r  J^  ^"' *^»»K  »«»  a»  the  woria.'' 
Tfo  soûls  with^ut  a  single  thought,'  ^,    Well,  Larry, 
au  I  toe  to  say  is^at  for  a  rtian  of  enthusiastic  sentiments, 
your  practice  is  bl^Iegniatic  ^nd  cold-bl^ed  to  a  degree 
Whçn  I  am  engaged r-"  " 

fec^abS^h?/^^^^    "'  '"""""  "P  "'  "^"^^  "^^ 

«  Cominu/Baby.    The  artiess  views  pf  youth  are  ever 

W    T *""^"^«-     When  you  are  engaged-^» 
,  "  Whenyl  am  engaged  I  shall  not  model  iflyself  upon  vour 

Slr^^'  r  ^^^  •  '  ^y  .â  ^ore.Tf  M^ 
K€ine  approves,  ail  Vwell." 

qhr!!!^^^!'''*'*?*'"^^*'    ^ThekingcaMQnowrppg.'" 
She  thro^s  down  her  book  and  riser    «I  fe^l  musillv 

^^;  i(I4pnptdist«rbany  onX/^^  H^^ 

^   "  Go  i#l,y  ail  weans,"  answers  4.  Pmé.    »J  HwM 
t^  bçft  when  n,y  reinwks  are  se( /q  ïnusic.    STteVi^^^/ 


\ 


^rî«^  il^  V  P"  '"'"  ^'^  ^^^^^^  ^^  *^g  §oge-cobred 
/ri»»tf-//4?/»to  of  the  concert  lastw^ek.'»  :      - 

1    :ffî%r  JI^SBP^^  i^^^^^^^. 


'^f 


.ly*. 


:^>- 


3^: 


i^ras! 


■  'Hli^llJ-  i'rt   illllL  I  IJU F—  »0" 


r 
1* 


242  ^  **VERY SEST  THINC  IN ALL  THE  IVORLO."* 

worth  ;  ••  it  appears  to  ttie  weT  ào  not  hear  as  much  <^  it  as 
we  used.  ' 

"The  yacht  will  be  launched  in  a  fortnight.  She  is  a 
dazzling  beauty,  and  the  admiration  of  ail  beholdérs.'' 

"  What  do  you  mean  to  call  her  ?  " 

Frank  slightly  réddens.  :      ' 

"  The  'Marie,'  "  he  answers.  "Miss  Laridelle  does  her 
the  honor  to  allow  me  the  name,  and  even  promises  to  per- 
form  the  christening.  Miss  Hariott,  I  am  going  ta  take  yoù 
and  Larry  and  the  Misse»  Landelle  fora  week's  cruise  along 
the  coast  of  Maine.  I  hâve  often  heard  you  say  you  would 
like  to  visit  the  Isle  of  Shoals." 

"  The^'  IVfarie  ' — a  pret|y  name,  Frank,"  says  Miss  Hari- 
otjt,  and  glances  at  Marie  herself..  That  fair  face  is  placid, 
is  exoressionless  almost  ;  it  betrays  nothing.  But,  to  the 
surprime  of  ail,  Reine  sp^akâ  through  the  open  window,  and 
spealjts  sharply. 


M 


^onsense. 


Frank  1     You  must  hot  ;  Marie, 
tell  /him  he  malt^ot.     Yours  is  not  a  pretty  name  foî  a 

It  isn't  «^ship,"  says  Frank,  lazily:  "schooner,  clipper- 
built,"  two*hundred  tons  register,  master,  Bill  Sanders. 
Coiildn'tr'have  aprettier  name  than  the  'Marie.'  Nothing 
pré  *îer  on  earth." 

*  ^sides,"  continues  Reine,  "it  is  not  fair.'  I  hesrd  you 
tell  Miss  Hariott,  ever  so  long  ago,  on  board  the  Hesperia, 
you  meant  to  call  it  after  her.  You  must  not  hreak  your 
wpild.     Call  it  the  Hester."  ;  :  ^^ 

Don't  cotton  to  Hester — ^never  did,  no  disrespect  to 
Misb  Hariott  meant     The  *  Hester,'  as  a  name  for  a  yacht, 
i$  flat,  stale,  and  Improfitable." 
'    "^all  it  the  'Little  Queenj'J'^  suggests  Miss  Hariott, 


*<  Ycu  can  find  no  fault  with  that  on  the  score  of  pretti- 
iie8s.l|'' 

le  *  Marie  '  I  hâve  ^d*  tbe  <  Marie  '  I  maîntain    Misi 


v* 


l^^êAl^ 


X 


*'VERYBEST  THING  IN A^L  THE  IVORLD.»      243 

I^ndelle  corné  to  my  aid„'^et  me  not  be  overpowered  by 
numbers.  You  hâve  promised,  and  I  hold  you  to  your 
Word.  ,  t 

*'MarieI"  Reine exclairas.  Theré  is  a world  of  entreaty. 
pf  paiA  of  pleading,  in  her  voice,  far  more  than  the  occasion 
would  seem  to  warrant. 

Marie  tums  round,  and  looks  her  sister  for  a  moment  fuU 
m  the  face  ;  then  she  speaks. 

''Petite  ••  she  says,  "I  ha>re  pron,ised,  and  a  promise 
g^ven.  with  me,  is  all.ays  a  promise  kept.  It  is  bu1  a  trifle. 
after  ail.  If  Mr.  Frank  prefer^  the  name-though  as.  Miss 
Hariott  says,  '  Little  Queen  'would  be  better-it  shall  be  as 
ne  Wishes. 

,    "And  I  wish  for  Marie,  always  for  Marie,"  says  Frank  in 
'  l   7.-!?*'  ^""  ""^  impassioned  meaning.     He  takes  her 
hand  m  fais  for  a  second,  and  kisses  it  quickly.    ««Thank 
you,  •  he  says,  «»  a  thousand  times.  " 

Hw!  ^^/"J^^^i^^^'yo^'  song,  Little  Queen,"  calls  Miss 
Hanott  but  Reme  does  not  sing.  She  plays,  however,  the 
«  Moonhght  SonatV  and  when  the  evening  is  over  and  th*r 

Whïr^-  h"^"''*'""'  '"*''  *  ^'°"^  °"  »»^^f^<^«  ^ï  the  way. 
Wh|t  IS  ,t?  he  won4ers;  why  does  she  object  to  the  yacht 

being  named  after  her  sister  ?    As  Marie  herself  has  said,  it^ 
is  but  a  tnfle  after  ail  «»«"»  "^ 

Toward  the  end  of  July  «,»„  is  held,  m  Baymouth,  Bav- 
moud,',  yearty  exhibition.-  They  hold  i.  J„,nut,i<Je  ,lL 
town  and  n«unmo,h  spedmens  of  the  «ge«.ble  «id  bovine 

beMdera.    h  connection  wid,  i^  Uiete  i>  alw  .  Jowe, 
if  T-  ^'"!"'  '""'^'^  bewildering  spécimen,  of  femmino    « 
^pfkJ!Ld.e.hap,  ofmne.e^,u..lu  U.i^^Z^. 

«upet.,  and  Berlin  wool  work".    Everybody^eToM  S 

•«"  OQ  Mr.  LongworUi  «>d  Mlle.  Reine  Undelle  find 


J  ^ 


^ 


»«Si 


:..%-.. . 


L'   klÉt'_/^TW*iV^ 


Mn*^** 


mm 


^ 


!!'XN'«B««ïè«e»^,.v' 


'< 


% 


'"■|***»iM:    ' 


»W-E' 


«44      **VBRY B^$T  THINOIN AU.  THK  IV0RU>.^ 

themselves  sauntering  under  a  Iîla2ing  sun,  examining  rather 
Ustlesçly  the  huge  pumpkîns  and  apples,  looking  apoplectic 
and  ready  to  burst  with  sheer  fatness,  the  monstrous  pigs  and 
sheep,  thç  jgaudy  patchwork,  and  flaming  rag  carpetç. 

"They  are  fearfijlly  and  wonderfully  roade,"  quoth  Mr. 
Longworth;    «and  the   thought,  that  naturally  strikes  an. 
unimpassioned  observer  is,  how  little  the  people  must  hâve 
to  do  who  make  them.     But  it  is  broilingly  hot-^suppose  we 
go  and  take  ope  look  at  the  flowers  and  then  drive  home  ?"' 
Reine  assents.     It  is  uncomfortably  wai-in,  and  the  ïpng, 
cool,  homeward  ride  will  be  pleasant.    For  it  has  çome  to 
this— she  can  look  fprward  to  a  twp  houTstêtâ-it./êté  drive 
with  her  affianced  without  the  slightest  repulsion.    Therç 
bave  been  tiines,  of  late.  whpn,  without  the  faintest  tjnge  of 
coxcombry,  Longworth  fancies  eyes  and  smil«  light  up,  and 
welcome  him,  when  she  has  stroUed  by  his  side  whither  hç 
chose  to  lead,  seemingly  well  content  tp  be  there.       Today 
they  hâve  been  together  for  hours,  and  she  has  not  shown, 
does  not  show  now,  the  slightest  weariness  of  bis  présence  ; 
and  as  he  looks  at  her,  he  thinks  that  perhaps  that  wedding- 
day  need  not  be  put  oflf  so  indefinitely  after  alL 

They  go  to  Jook  at  the  flowers.  Roses  predominate,  and 
perfume  aU  the  air.  The  band  plays,'*ànd  hère  the  gilded 
youth  and  loveliness  of  Baymouth  most  do  congregate.  It  is 
certainly  the  best  of  the  show,  to  ail  save  the  practical  agri- 
cultural  mind,  that  revels  in  fat  pigs  and  bloated  cabbages. 

"  Look  hère,  Reine,''  says  Mr.  Longworth,  "  at  this  Gloire 
de  Dijon.     Isn't  he  a  splendid  fellow-^«  queen  rose  of  the 

■osebud  garden  of '     No,  by  the  by,  thaf  s  «  mixing  up 

of  gehders-^- "  *     ^ 

He  stops  short  and  looks  at  her.  Her  gloved  hand  has 
beei^  resting  lightly  oa  his  arm  ;  he  feels  it  suddenly  clench 
and  tighten.     Her  eyes  are  fixcd.  the  color  has  left  her  ùft 


^er  lips  are  breathless  and  apart     Terror,  amaze,  anger,  a^e 
m  her  eyes»  an4  with  them,  and  eontradicting  them,  awift, 


'1 1 


I 


v^ 


Jr.  LÉONCE  DURAND,  345. 

Inexprettiblc  gladnes«,  He»looki  where  sbe  looks»  and  see« 
a  strangerapproaching— a  young  man,  faultlessbf  attire,  and 
fauklessly  good-looking.  It  is  a  face  he  bas  seen  before— 
where,  he  cannot  at  that  instant  tell.  But  he  recalls  direct- 
ly,  for  Reine  speaks,  in  a  whisper,  still  with  tense  grasp  on 
his  arm. 

"  Oh.I  "  she  breathes  \  **  it  i»-4t  is— Léonce  I  " 


m 


m 


CHAPTER  XVI 


;fi. 


M.    LÉONCE    OuIrAND.  ^^ 

|HE  disengages  her  hand,  and  makes  a  Hep  forward, 
her  lips'parted,  her  eyes  dilating,  in  the  intensity 

ofsom^great  surprise.     And  still  through  the  in- 

credulity,  mixécTwitli^aitter  amaae,  Longworth  can  sec  wel- 
come,  and  gladness,  and  fear.  A  keen,  hot,  swift  pang—is 
it  jealousyP—stings  through  him,  as  he  looks  at  the  object 
of  this  sudden  white  change  in  his  betrothed's  facé.  The 
Etranger  is  by  her  side.  «Reine,  ma  petite,  Reine^  ma 
belle  !"  he  hears  him  say,  as  he  clasps  both  her  hands,  and 
stooping-kisses  her  on  both  cheeks.  An  angry,  haughty 
^  flush  mounts  to  Longworth'»  forehead,  a  ûown  conlracts.  hi« 
eyebrowa.  y^' 

"  Léonce  1  Léonce  1  "  he  hears  Reine  say,  haif  under  her 
breath,  in  a  terrified  sort  of  whisper,  «  Léonce,  why  hâve  you 
corne?"  /        .  ^ 

"  Need  you  isk  ?  •*  he  says,  rêproachfally.  «  Becaiise  I 
could  not  stay  Way.  No  need  lo  remind  me  of  my  promise 
--I  hâve  broken  it  with  my  eyes  open.    And  there  is  noth- 


^-fcar:    tintsKd  t©  b«  jËBscretioiî  itîeK     Wheroïi 
Marie  ?" 

They  speak  in  French,  «^  r*pkUy,  b  hurried  uàtlertoiiei, 


!%. 


m 


mmmi 


<  *i 


.  ^  Jlf.   LEONCE  DURAND.       .         ^ 

Put  tïiis  niuch  Longworth  heaw.     Reine  seems  to  lave  for 
gotten  him,   her  companion  not  to   hâve  observed  him. 
Their  conversation  seems  Ukely  to  be  extremely  interesting, 
more  mtetesting  perhaps  than'agreeable,  but  lie  feels  no  de- 
sire  to  piay  eavesdroppen     The  little  he.  has  heard  lias 
d^epened  the  frown  upon  his  fa^e.     Who  is  this  fellow? 
What  promise  has  he  brofcen  in  cbraing  hère  ?    Why  is  ft 
necessaiy  to  be  discrétion  itself?    Why  is  there  nothing  to 
.fear?    They  still   stahd,   their   hands  clasped,  talking  in 
véhément  lowered  voices,  Reine  evidently  much  excited,  irt- 
dignant,  anxious,  expostulating  ;  he  cool,  half  smiling,  reso- 
lutelymakinghghtofeveryentreaty.     They  can  talk  without 
fear  of  discovery,  the  spot  is  isolated,  everybody  is  colleéted 
around  the  bank.     Mr.  Longworth  can  stand  afar  off,  and 
gaze  at  the  new<omer  at  his  feisurç,     They  are  so  engrossed 
with  one  another  that  he  remains  in  the  background  unseen 
: .  and  forg|tten.      ' 

.      The  editor  of  the  ^>4^«/*  is  a  icosmopolitan,  à  thorough 

•inan  of  the  world.  with  no   préjudice  against  any  man's 

J^rtioài^lity,  though  that  man  were  a  Hottenlôt,  or  a  Fiji 

Islander;  but  he  expériences  an  invincible  and  utter  repul- 

sion  to  this  young  Frenchman  at  sight. 

Nothing  in  the  Frenchman's  appearance  cor tainly  warrants 
the  repulsion-he  is  without  exception  the  handsoraest  man 
Longwortl,  has  ever  seen.  He  is  not  tall,  but  his  shght 
figure  looks  the  perfection  of  manly  strength,  and  a  certain 
square  shouldered,  upright  militaiy  air  li^speaks  one  not 
unac.quainted  with  soldiering.  The  colorless  olive  complex- 
.ion  the  jet  black  hair  and  mustache,  the  large,  broWn,  mel- 
ancholy  cycs--eye8  the  most  beautiful,  compétent  female 
cntics  had  ère  this  agreed,  that  everW  set  in  a  maie  créa- 
ture  s  head,  hands  and  feet  slendér/nd  shapely  and  fit  for  a 
pnnce,  the  pohshed  and  cpnsuramate  courtesy  of  a  French- 


: 


-«Hitt^  the 


?»TO^^^-ï^FwasM.O<>hce  Durand,  th^ 
man  whoVood  with  Reine  LandeUfi'f  hands  held  close  in 


' 


«* 


.âteMW-W 


*• 


».* 


•-H>- 


'^-'■jii 


'> 


M.  LÉONCE  DURAND. 


247 


Ail  at  onca,  by  a  ludd^»  «fier t,  Rebe-Lande»e,  m  thr 


7      ^ 
I 


his,    the   man    at   whom    Longwrorth    stands  and   gazes,     " 
contempt,  irritation,    jealousy,   ail  in    his    cold,   sarcastic    ' 
eyes.  '    . 

«  A  sweetly  pretty  young  man,"  he  thinks,  "  of  the  stamp 
known  to  extrême  bread-and-butter-maidenhood  as  *inter 
estmg.'  Jnteresting  is  the  Word,  I  think,  for  pallid  young 
gentlemen,  with  a  tendency  to  bile,  long  eyelashes,  and  dyed 
niustaches,  white  teeth,  and  an  mch  and  f  quarter  of  brain.' 
The  pity  is,  when  Nature  gives  ilrself  so  mucK  trouble  em-  '  . 
bellishing  the  outside,  she  generally  finishes  herwork.  in  a  '  ' 
hurry  and  leaves  the  inside  a  blapk.**  r^     -^       • 

But  this  is  Mr.  Longworth's  little  mistake.     Nature,  in 
giving  M.  Durand  more  than  his  fairshar^  of  béauty,  has  by 
no  means  forgotten  that  useft^  article  brains,  and,  to  du  the 
young  man  justice,  he  values  tjie  latter  much  more  than  Ihe 
former.     Vain  he  is  not,  never  has  been.     Hisjooking-glas^ 
aod.^omen's  Qyes  hâve  long  ago  made  hîm  $0  absolutely 
aware  of  his  good  looks,  that  he  has  ceased  to  think.of  th«m,        , 
and  accepts  the  fact  that  he'ïs.handsomi^  as^he  accepts  the 
.other  fâcti^^thathe  can  he^àpd  see,' without  thihking,  about 
it.     Mâny jrears  ago,  when  he  wasa  little  soft-eyed  angel  in . 
long,  ebon  ringlets  and  velvet  blouse,  ît  had  been  impressed 
upqir  his  memory  never  to  be  efiaced.     \^lking  in  the  gar- 
den  of  the  Tuileries,  with  Madame  Durandf  thé  loveliest  and 
greatest  lady  in  ail  France  hadstooped  with alittle  exclamation 
of  pleasure  and  kissed  him,  and  asked  him  his  name.    Many 
years  ago  truly,  and  she  whp  was  then  a  radiant  bride,  peerièss 
throughout  the  world  for  her  own  beauty,  was',now  an  exiled, 
widowed,  and/sorrowing  womân  ;  but'  Léonce  Durand  grew 
up  with  the  memory  of  thaï  caress  in  hfs  heart,  and  it  was 
stiU  that  mehioiy,  not  so  many  monthà  before,  that  had  nerved 
his  arm  agamst  the  Prussian  foe. 


^ 


r  • 


'•-  iî/-  •■■••- 


inidstof  herexcitedtalk,  recallsthe  fect  that  she  is  not  alone. 
1-ongworth  sces  her  companion  glanCeat  him  with  a  sïight 


'  «  -1 


1' 


)tk»^tiéS^, 


1    «fs  i 


■nik. 


tf^^ 


248 


ny 


Jt.  LêOHÇE  DDRAITD. 


interrogatiVe  élévation  of  the  eyebrows.     Difectly  aftw  botlr* 
approach.    4^  ^ 

"Monsieur  Lo»gworth,»  begins  Reine  hurriedly,  «allow 
me  to  présent  my  friend,  M.  Durand." 

^.  Durand  wniles,  touchés  his  hat,  and  bows  with  the  in. 
imitable,  ease  and  grâce  of  his  nation.  Mr.  Longworth  lifts 
lus  almost  an  eighth  of  an  inçh,  éf  stiffly,  and  coldly,  and 
repellantly  as  moital  man  can  perforai  the  ket,  and  in  pro- 
found  silence.  •  , 

"  I  hâve  taken  Mlle.  Reine  t^y  surprise»"  says  M.  Durand, 
still  smilingly,  and  in  uhexceptionable  English.  «  I  wrote 
but  I  infer  my  letter  has.  jniscarried.  Extraonlinary,  is  il 
not,  my  commg  upon  you,  Petite,  the  moment  I  enter  the 
grounds?" 

"  How  did  you  discover  we'were  hère  ?"  Reine  asks. 
•      She  is  still  looking  ^le  and  agitated,  Longworth  can  see, 
paler  and  more  agitated  than  any  mère  ordina^y  surprise  can 
account  for.  ». 

"  From  Madame  Windsor's/irww^  de  eharnbit,  I  suspect," 
responds  M.  Durand  codlly,  and  Reine  looks  up  at  Hi|»  with 
afamtgasp.  "' 

"  Léonce  I  you  went/>i<r/-^;"  \       ' 

"  But  certainly,  ma  Petite.  Is  there  anything  surprising 
mthat?  Where  else  should  I  go  ?  A  very  fine  old  matision, 
too;  I  congratulate  yoM  upon  your  new  home.  A  thrice 
amiable  lad/s-maid  appéared— informed  me  you  were  hère, 
mformed  me  also  how  I  should  find  xay,  way.  I  corne,  and 
almost  the  first  person  I  behold  is  ma  belle  cousine*  'voilà 
tout." 

"Ah!  you  are  Mlle.  Reine's  cousin?"  remarks  Long- 
worth,  and  unconsciously  the  contraction  between  the  eye- 
brows  slowly  relaxés. 

"Her  cousin—more  than  tousin— more  than  brothet— 


ié^4Wml  wrPctiwi^'^  he  says  gàyl^r^^ Madame  DuraSdT 
the  great-aunt  of  MUe.  Reine,  was  my  belle  mère— my 


•f^- 


• 


i^i^'r  ■•  -: 


M.  LEONCE  DURAND, 


?4S 


allow 


• 


How  is  it  you  say  tbat  wordi,  Mr.  LongJ 


nioHtet'-ift-Iaw. 
woith?" 

t     ?»  Your  step-ttiother,  perhaps." 

"Ah  !  thanki  y«8  ;  that  is  it— my  step-mother.  I  v^as  i 
little  fellow  of  eight  whett  madame  married  iny  /athçr,  and 
Pétitie  hère,  a  fairy  of  two  whcB  she  first  came  to  live  with 
us  in  the  old  housc  in  Roueii.  Is  it  to  be  wondered  at,  thenj 
j  having  lived  together  ail  our  lives,  I  should  be^rànsported  to 
meet  het  again  after  a  séparation  of— «a  /w/— six  endlessi 
months?"  j 

"  Then,  in  point  of  fact,  Mr.  Durahd,^'  says  Mr.  Loîigwopth, 
coldly,  "you  and  Miss  Landelle  are.not  relatedat  ail?" 

"  ïy  no  tie  of  blood,  monsieur,"  responds  the  gay  Léonce, 
smiling  down  into  Reïne's  half-averted  face^;  "  but  there  are 
ties  «earer  and  dearer  ihan  even  ties  of  blood.  Petite,  ail 
this  rime  I  see  not  Marie.     If  monsieur  wUl  kindly  pardon 

Again  M.  Durand  finishes  his  sentence  with  a  gracions 
ând  graceful  bow,  again  Mr.  Longworth  responds  by  a  curt 
and  n^ost  ungracious  nod. 

"  If  you  want  to  find  your  sister,  Mlle,  ^eine,"  he  says, 
ignoring  the  suave  speaker,  «I  thtnk  you  will  find  her  in 
this  direction.  '  Atwhathourshall  I  corne  totake  you  home  ? 
You  were  expressing  a  désire  to  go  home,  you  may  remem- 
ber,  a  moment  before  Monsieur  Durand  came  Up." 

"  In  abôut  an  hour,"  Reine  ânsWers,  faking  Durand's  arm  * 
and  moving  away.     . 

Longworth  bows,  and  tums  in  the  opposite  direction; 
He  càtdhes  Durant» s  low,  amused  laugh»  as  he  goes,  aithough 
he  does  not  catch  his  words. 

*'  Pardieu  I  chère  Petite  j  what  havt  I  done  that  monsieur, 
your  friénd,  should  scowl  upon  me  so  blackly?    Is  it  ;that 
J^hai^alflyeiv^andJici^  lookingpiiif-^ 


\y 


tels  ànd  small  swords  as  I  embraced  yot^,"- 
Miss  Marie  I^andelte  hw  left  thecii^aanirounding  tht 


U» 


im- 


t 


vh. 


wmi 


..  *-»wi 


# 


25^ 


JH.  LÉONCE  DURAND. 


baiïd,  and  strolled  away  pn  theVm  of  one  of  her  innumer 
able  admirers,  out  of  the  beat  and  noise,  and  glare,  aiid-  it 
chances  that  it  is  Longwôrth  who  cornes  upon  her  first. 
She  is  seated  under  a  great  elm,  her  hat  off,  her  %  face 
slightly  flushed  with  beat  and  weariness,  a»  her  blonde  hair 
falhng  damp  and  glittering  over  her  shoulders,  slightly  bored 
cvidevitly,  but  beautiful  as  à  dream.     Longworth  thinks  it  as 
.     he  has  thought  it  a  hundr^  tinres  before,  and  wonders  ho^ 
it  is  that  adrairing  that  perfect  loveliness  as  he  does,  it  yet 
has  so  little  power  to  move  him.     Her  cavalier  of  the 
moment  is  seated  besîde   her,   looking  almost  idiotically 
happy,  and  he  darte  à  frowning  look  at  the  intruder.     But 
Miss  Landelle  glè^ees  up  wilh  that  supremely  sweet,  though 
wmewhat  monotonojus  sraile  of  hers,  and  moves  aside  her 
white  drapery  to  make  room  fof  him  on  the  other  side. 

"Thanks,  dpn't  dîsturb  yourself,"  he  says.     «  Ah  !  Mark- 
fiam^how  dô?     Didn't  know  you  were  hère;  horrible  hot 
and  stupid,  isn't  it  ?/  Unutterable  bore  ali  this  sort  of  thing  ; 
but  they  will  do  xi  every  summer,  invariably  selecting  the 
dog  dayj,  and  we  i^ersist  in  coming  to  see  it." 
/'  Where  is  Rein<^  ?  "  asks  Reiné's  sister. 
"Ii)oking  for  you.    She  met  a  friend  just  now,  a  friend 
from  France,  and  both  h^ve  gone  in  search  of  you.     1  will 
take  you  to  thein,  if  you  like." 

"A  friend?"    repeat^  Miss  Landelle;    a  puzzléd  look 
commg  over  the  seren^  face.     «  A  friend  from  France— 

^^^'l  4-?"'  *®''®  "  "°  °r®  *°  *^°*"^*     ^^^  *^"  '*  ^«  •*  " 
*•  A  very,handsome  mkn— M.  Léonce  Durand." 
Marie  Landelle's  is  a  face  that  seldom  changes,  either  in 
color  or  expression,  but  as  he  speaks  Longworth  sees  a  most 
remarkable  change  paij  over  it     The  faint,  incredulous 
smile  fades,  the  slight  àush  dies  slowly  out,  the  lips  com- 
press,  the  pupils  of  thci  bronze  eyes  seem  to  contract— à 
-Jook^ot^uUrtri^tenaeing^-wt»  every  featofe.  TTheîel^T 
no  conflicting  emotion^^f  tetror  or  gladness  hère,  «t  »  ' 


AVt 


.'^î    ''\s^ 


Mfm 


•y    r   !  r>-T'-\'^mff^ 


,     / 


ir .. 


M.  ZÊONCE  DURAND^ 


251 


Reine'»  case— Miss  Landelle  evidently  has  but  one  feclin* 
onthesubject    She  rises  at  once. 

"Excuse  me,  Mn  Markham,"  she  turns  to  that  bereaved 
gentleman  with  her  usual  grâce,  but  without  her  usual  smile. 
•'  Àïr.  Longworth,  will  you  be  kind  enough  to  take  pie  to  iny 
sister  and  her  friend  ?  " 

"Herfriend,"  thinks  Longworth,  as  he  présents  his  arm 
*'  Is  he  iiot  yours  then  as  well  ?   If  he  were  your  deadliest  foe  » 
you  coufdhardly  wear  a  look  that  would  welcome  him  ^ess." 

He  has'^id,  and  he  has  thought  niany  times,  there  is 
something  abqut  thisyoung  lady^that  baffles  him.^She  re-   ^ 
minds  him'of  imirror,,clear  and  transparent  on  first  view, 
reflecting  everi^ing,  hiding  nothing  ;  but  tum  to  the  reverse 
side  and  you  meet— blankness.     Whatev^r  depth  there  may 
be  you  gçt  at  nothing  but  the  fair,  shilling,  polished  surface  ; 
ail  beneath  is  like  the  back  of  the  niirror,  impénétrable. 
There  is  a  sort  of  still  strength  in  her  characier,  it  sfeems  to 
Longworth)  that  may  be  hidden  froni  her  closest  friends  for 
yearsÇ  unjess  somé  sudden  eniergency  calls  it  forth.     Has 
that  sudden  emergency  arrived  ?     Has  she .  any  reason  for 
being  antagonistic  with  this  man  ?    That  he  is  unlooked  for 
and  unwelcome  to  both  is  évident,  but  the  différence,  so  far 
l's  pénétration  and  préjudice  can  make  it  out, 
is  that  Reine  likes,  perhaps  loves  him,  while  the  elder  sister 
simplyAndabsolutely  is  hisenemy.  K 

They  walk  on  in  silence  for  a  little.     Then^  Marie  speaks,     *^ 
and^even  her  voice  has  a  subtle  change»  and  sounds  as  hard 
and^old  as  Mrs.  Windsor's  own." 

"  Reine  ibtroduced  Ml  Durand  to  you,  I  suppose  ?»  she 
inquires. 
«Shedid."    •  V;  r  r  .  '    .         '        „ 

"  He  is  Reine's  cousin,  you  know,  her  brother  almost' 


*'  thdeed?-_Mllc.  Reine Vyeat^attnt  11m  hic  ctcpmolhers 


Does    that 
France  ?  » 


constitute    cousinsHip    and    brotherhood    in 


•^ 


d-Y- 


.•  *x 


Â^i^<(^ 


,..^^- 


<'&M  ^-A;». 


152 


M.   LÉONCE  DURAND. 


^She  glance.  at  him  quickly,  theii  laugh»  in  a  constrained 

"AU  theèame,  th<iy  haT«  beeir  as  brdthe^  and  sister  àll 
the.r  hves.  Rdne  could  «ôt  be  fonder  of  hi™  if  he  w^^  he" 
brother  ih  reality.»  "^  wcre  ner 

"  From  the  little  I  hâve  seen,  I  infer  not." 
Jjhe  responses  are  frigid-the  expression  of  Mr.  î^g. 
worthsfaqe  Chili  and  cynical.  Evidefttly  ihis  sort  of  rf^ 
la^nsh.p  when  the  «  brother"  is  so  eminently  h.ndW  a 
ma^as  M.Léonce  Durand,  is  not  altogether  to  his  taste! 
There  is  another  pause. 

"DidMr.  Durand  say4«>w  or  whyhe  cornes  I"  ^e  «sks. 
Not  m  my  heanng.  I  believe  he  stated  that  he  could 
not  stay  away,  that  six  endless  months  had  elapsed  since  he 
and  your  sister  had  met,~and  that  it  was  impossible  to  endure 
«le  séparation  longer.  Are  ,bUhers  usually  50  devoted  in 
France  ?    It  is  not  customary  hère." 

r.^%^^^^  ^'™  aquick,  keen,  sidelong  ^ahce  that  ré- 
minds  him  once  more  of  Mrs.  Windsor.  Indeed,  in  many 
h^cksof  manner  Mane  Landelle  résembles  her  grandmother 

ap^pear.     TKe  band  is  stiU  playing  a  livdy  melody  from  "  La 
^^  t  .^"t"\A"got,"  and  the  well-dressed  throng  still 
surrouàd  it.     But  the  music  to  many  there  has  ceased  to  be 
the  attraction-M.  Durand  is  the  center  of  many  pairs  of 
admmng  and  interested  eyes.     There  can  be  no  privacy  of 
meeting  hère,  but  it  is  apparent  that  Marie  de.iL  none 
She  drops  Lonçworth's  arm  and  approaches,  and  despite  the 
gazmg  crowd,  assumes  no  welcbming,  àttîficial  Smile.     The 
T^tl     f  ^^^>™^'««ïf^tlyare  cold.  angry,  smUelessj 
she  does  not  even  extend  he^hand  in  pretense  of  greeting. 
She  bo#s  slightly  and  frigidly,  and  will  not  see  the  eager 

^ves  h^         '  *'  '^''^"^'  P*""^^"*'  r^9^^^^^\  glance  ho 


"m-|i^tionate   embrace   hère,"  thinks    Ixingworth. 


#1. 


4 


.&*A,'»-,-     r    .-  , 


'tiEt^^^   , 


''  pii 


I 


I 


»'■ 


T 


M  lÉdNCÈ  È^bkANÙ.  25$ 

dclï^       '  «ot  s..„d-,n  the  Sgh.  ofa  broAer  tp  Mis,  La» 

ne  naa  seen  the  glà^ess  in  her  eve&— v«»«  in  ««.f      r 
.nd fca..,heg,ad„«s,.Ke  weIcoS:::r,r„  "^Ï^^^^^^ 
,    haj.,hoUgh,  h.rdefia„r.„d  b,uve,  „i.f„I  and  Zete  «r 
haï»,  and  none  ehe  less  charminr  fbr  ir  h..f  „    ■*""?  •*'■ 
a.  the  day.    She  hasaccept^  hl  and  ^J^  '""  '""''' 
»y  préviens  a«aoh»ent  l  Lti  "^nî  ""whTh'^ 
«he  not  told  him  of  thii  "  cousin  ?  •>  Un?  •  T  •     .      ^  ^*' 

can^ng^ispioo.„w„rrh  Lp''^;^trj^:iSt;i^^ 

com,ng?  He  has  asked  Her  eo  be  his  „ifo  f  .  ''°^'"' 
willing  .o.wai.  and  .o  do  his  „.„„s.t  Zh^he^w^t ,";' 
has  not  the  faintest  «««  »(  taÊng  a  teaÔTn  ,t  ^2'  ^^ 
ing  to  ™  a  beart  alreadv  S  ?„  l  **'  °'  '^■ 
diarpness  of  the  jeru,  „af„  *  l  ""î"'-  '"'^  ''J'*'' 
Mr.  Longworthiei^?:^,^"  ,?^  "^  ^'-K^'  «*^"  «■». 
«f  j»;  /•   ..     ^      •      *"  •   **  moment  of  the  tnie  stai*. 

of  h,s.own  feehngs  Aan  perhaps  he  has  ever  knoJn" 
;He  stands  and  fartivelvwatche»  ».  »,.       «^'o™  P«ore. 

the  pan.omin,«  going  l^t^^^ZT^"  '"  k""«' 
woW  hiif  if«  -  ,  ueiore  mm,    He  cannot  hear  a 

tee  fate  âiy.  nlsinlvi  .ifv  .  ..  ""  «>Mlyre». 


g^fe-.  to^  beho.de»  :  .^^  -^-^ 


^^^'^'^"^-    Yo«a,eunwelcon.e-I 
«a  ««the^  gb  wMh  w  «or  listen  to  y^  „or  fo^ji™  yo*. 


*^-i. 


"*.r' 


^i' 


■«lÉSfi^f 


ihiàivuâi^'C; 


-K, 


''•«^'7«f^5p^-' 


254 


M.  LÉONCE  DURAND. 


He  glanées  moodily  at  Reine.  Reine  looks  anxious  and 
distressed  ;  her  wish  seenis  to  be  that  of  Durand  ;  shtf  appar- 
ently  pleads  with  earnestness  his  cause.  But  Marif  i»cai 
calmly  inexorable  as  Fate  itselfj^gho^tuRw  detemiinedlv 
away  and  joins  a  group^of^rcqmimtances.  Nothing  reroâins 
foNheotheMwo  but  to  follow  her  example.  The  handsomc 
^nd  élégant  foreignér  is  presentéd,  and  there  is  a  flutter 
araong  the  ;ropng  îadies.  He  throws  off  the  eamest  and 
pleading  look  his  face  has  worn,  and  is  at  his  ease  at  once 
with  every  one,  with  ail  the  debonair  grâce  of  a  man  well 
used  to  the  society  of,women. 

"A  very  unçj^pected  addition,"  says  a  voice  at  Long- 
worth's  elbow,  and  Mrs.  Sheldon  approaches  K|r  cousin. 
*'  Who  is  this  Monsieur  Dun^nd,  Laurence?" 

"Monsieur  Durand  is— Monsieur  Durand,  »nd  a  veiy 
\  good-looking  young  man,  Totty."  > 

"Good-Iookingl  Well,  yes,  I  should  caU  him  that.  A 
delightful  acquisition.  I  wonder-if  he  has  come  to  stay  ?  " 
"  Could  you  not  inquire.  I  savif  him  ihtroduced  to  you.'» 
"Miss  Landelle  looked  annoyed,  I  thougbt,"  pursues 
Totty,  languidly .  ".She  did  not  even  shake  hands  with  him. 
Reine,  on  the  contrary,  clings  to  his  arm  in  a  way  that— 
really— .  There,  they  are  moving  oflF  together,  I  déclaré.  Is 
he  any  relative,  do  yo,u  know ?" 

"Mytlear  child,  do  you  think  I  stood  up  and  deroanded 
M.  Durand's  biography  the  moment  we  met  ?  Miss  Lan- 
delle is  hère— had  you  not  better  app^  to  her  for  his  anté- 
cédents, since  you  apppar  so  deeply  inlèrested ?" 

"  Oh  I  I  am  jiot  inter^œted  in  himi'  answered  Mrs.  Shel- 
don, with  emphasis  on  the  persorial  pronoun.  ««I  only, 
thought — ^but  itis  no  matter."  . 

*•  You  only  thought  wjiat  ?  ""împatiently. 
'That  bcing  engaged  to  Mlle.  Reine,  you  might— but  it  ii 


li- 


-m  irofisenséjof  course.  ^Xînly  we  Snow  :8o  Uttle  of  thèse 
young  ladiesy  and  they  scem  to  hâve  I^  «uch  odd,  wandering. 


•  >--.l^K^[ 


M- 


.fe'A*s«» 


^:/:/- 


■■</<v 


^#- 


f     ^*'  ^"f  ^  ^^"r  •/ 


W-^ 


Long- 


t? 


•Shel-   ,              , 
[   onlyy 

iititw.              * 

•  thèse 

LAndelle 
*f àndere 
Ixjndoi 
This  jro 
"Oh 


M^lJoifCÉ  DURAND,  .  25s 

lîve»,  and  met  so  many  people,  and  they  tell  so  litUe 
of  th^  pa$t— but  of  course  it  is  ail  nonsense." 

/^I  think  you  must  labor  undersoroe  rematkaiîlc  halluci- 

natfon^  Mrs.  Sheldon,"  responds  Longworth,  coolly.    "  What 

^^  r^ij^  n^n^by  'odd,  wandering  sort  of  lives?»     Reine 

u^yg^j  «P  by  her  father's  aunt  in  iouen,  and 

'î,  except  when  she  visited  her  parents  in 

'ïtaly  with  her  aunt,  for  that  lad/a  health. 

1  is  the  late  aunf  s  step-son-^ * 

»r  ;m''  --^  ^*  ^°"^'  »nnocentJy  opening  h#ligbti)lue 
eyes,  "  her^ep-son  ?  ,  I  thoughl  you  didn't  know." 

«  I  know  that  much.  Mlle.  Ma^e,  nothavipg  been  reared 
by  the  aunt,  is,  as  you  may  see,  less  intimate'with  him  tban 
her  sister.  Your  tone  and  look  are  sihgulaiiy  suggestive, 
Totty.    May  I  inquire  of  what  ?  *4  •    v- 

"  Oh  I  dear,  no^not  at  ail  I  I  reaUy  do  not  raean  to  sug- 
pt  anything.  Only  I  thought-but  of  course,  as  I  said  be- 
fore,  that  is  ail  nonsense." 

Longworth  fairly  turns  upon  her  savagely.        ^ 

«  For  Heaven's  sake,  liaura,  speak  out  1  "  be  cries,  with 

ascowl.  "  Itthereis  anything  I  hâte,  itisinnuendoes.   You  ' 
thinfk  what  ?  *  jii^ 

"  Laurence,  please  don't  ^gry,-  sa^s  Totty.  plaintfve. 
ïy.  She  lays  one  gloved  hand  on  iiis  arm,  and  looks  plead- 
inglyinto  his  flùshed  and  irritated  face.  'Uf  I  cared  for 
ypur  happiness  less,  I  raifeht  be  more  indiflFere^t.  What  I 
thmk  IS,  that  Reme  Landelle  seeÀs  to  be  afraidof  this  young 
man.  It  may  be  only  fancy,  but  I  certainly  fancy  it.  and 
shejs  not  one  to  be  easily  made  afraid.  Pardon  me  if  I  of- 
fend  you  m  speaking  of  her.  I  know  that  she  îs  everything 
to  you,  and  I  am  nothing,  but  I  cannot  forget—  » 
Mre.  Sheldon  is  a  pretty  wonian,  and  in  her  traf  not  al- 


jethei 


T  .■•^--' j": 


'■■.■■■  "V 


cate  sath-sense,  tact    A  mor«  inopportune  moment  fot 
•entimcnt,  for  recalling  the  "past,"  she  cottld  not  hàv«|* 


A. 


256 


M.  LÉONCE  DVRANÙ. 


chosen.    Au  impatient  "Pshawl"  actually  escapes  Long 
worth's  lips  as  he  turns  aWay. 

*'  Confound  the  woman  and  her  love-making  I  "  is  the  Sav- 
age thought  that  rises  in  his  rtind. 
^        But  shê'  has  planted  her  sting,  and  the  poison^^d  barb 
rankl^.     She,  too,  has  seen  that  glance  of  inexplicable  teiror 
in^eine's  eyes,  and  ail  Baymouth  will  be  talkingof  this  man 
and  this  meeting  by  to-morrow,  and  making  their  ottrn  con- 
jectures as  t5  why  Mlle.  Marie  would  not  shake  hands  with 
hmi,  and  Mlle.  Reine  looked  afraid  of  him.   Me  turns  away  ; 
Mrs.  Sheldon's  eyes  émit  one  pale,  angiy  gleàm  as  they  fol- 
low  his  moc^y  face.     Shall  he  demand  imperiously  an  ex- 
planation  on  their  way  home,  he  is  thinkihg,  or  shall  he  wait 
for  her  to  volunteer  it?    Thpre  is  an  explanation  of  some 
sort,  of  that  he  is  certain.     He  cannot  décide.    He  will  wait 
and  let  circumstances  décide  for  him.    He  looks  at  his  watch 
--quite  tnne  to  be  starting.     He  will  go  for  her,  and  on  their 
nomeward  drive . 

His  clouded  face  clears  suddenly.  He  starts  ràpidly  in 
the  direction  they  hâve  gone.  He  has  an  insuperable  aver- 
sion  to  doubts  and  mysteries--there  must  be  none  between 
him  and  the  woman  he  marnes.  She  shall  hâve  no  option 
in  the  matter;  she  must  speak  ont  on  the  way  home. 
Fnendly  she.  may  be  with  her  aunf^  step-scTn,  but  caresses 
—no  ;  secréts-nof  ail  that  must  end  at  once  and  forever 

In  the^hearto^  Laurence  Longworth  there  is  geflerosity. 
manlmess,  and  good  fellowship- in  a  more  tftan  ordinary  de- 
grée,  but  blended  vrtth  them  there  is  a  tolerably  strong  leavei» 
of  self-Will,  selfishness,  obstinacy,  atid  jeatou^.  As  a  man, 
meiflike  hun  ;  as  a  friend,  wonlen  may  safely  like  and  trust 
him;  as  a  lover,  he  wUl  surely  be  more  or  less  à  tyrant  in 
4iii-e#  ratio  to  the  degrte  he  loves.    He  is  incUned  to  carry 

J!i^^|;» Z^  ^MJ^^  twder._ 

srafid  thainhough  lier  suitor,  he  is  not'tand  neveT  meaTs  , 
«10  beïer  slavejjf  No  one  must  corne  between  him  and  hif 


/       llftU  jLk.' 


hc^ 


^  '"Filent  ÂND  trve.^  2$} 

future  wife;  if  H  is  her  best  friend  itt  the  woiW,  fe  her 
Best  fnend  must  be  dropped. 
_  If  she  bas  mistaken  the  man  she  bas  promîsed  to  marry 

r  ,      1       „  thoroughly  tcu*.  Md  pure,  and  good,  that  he  " 
fées;  tut  ail  the  wodd  must  see  and  acknLieige  îhat 
truth,  and  punty,  and  goodness.     Like  Cœsar's,  Laurence 
Longworth  s  wife  must  be^  above  reproach.     His  lips  com- 
ptess,  his  eyes  kmdle,  his  facèîs  calni  and  decided    % 

'  Yes,;'  he  says,  "  it  must  end  in  the  beginning.     AU  must 
be  explame^on  the  way  hpme."  ^  «lusi 


CHAPTER  XIX. 

"SILENT  AND    TRUE." 

iHERE  is  a  gênerai  movement  among  the  people,  as 
»  Mr  Longworth  makes  his  way  to  the  spot  wherehe 

hou,e     Prank  Dexter.  Miss  Hariott,  and  Miss  iat^delle  fo 
Xg  iadj     ''"'  "^°^'^"«  '"^  '''  '^''^  '^'  ^'^  '-^  --^* 
Long^vorth  passes  him,  and  as  he  suspects,  aftera  fe^min. 

s^l  an^*  Il  ^  '  '"^'''  "^'^  ^^«^"^  »  «^^'"ded  and 
^ords.  Miss  Landelle  is  the  speaker  ;  she  possesses  in  an 
ennnent  degree-indeed,  both  sisters  do-L  "excinen" 


can  iee  th.  cold,  pale,  mt.iise  ang«  that  makes  it  like  mirbl» 


Act.  Vî3;8ï«,    t  .- 


ji  il  J,.!'"^)*-    S  „»!<)&.  L     ..  t 


il'iÉiî'fi  ' 


■•k^ 


"'^'■'tiniiiii 


'V 


258 


«« 


SILENT  AND  TRUE!* 


— anger  ail  the  more  intense  perhaps  Vor  its  perfect  outwafd 
repression.  , 

"  Reine  may  do  as  she  pleases,"  the?e  are  her  chill  words. 
«  Sbe  bas  known  yoii  longer,  and  can  forgive  you  more  than 
I.  The  man  who  wiU  deliberately,  for  bis  own  selfisb  gratifi- 
cation,  break  bis  pligbted  word,  is  a  man  so  utterlytontemp- 
.:  tible  and  despicable,  tbat  be  is  beneath  even  scorn.  And  for 
anything  you  will  gain  by  coming,  you  migbt  as  well  bave 
stayed  forever.     Either  in  public  or  in  private  I  absolutely  re- 

fuse  to " 

Sbe  pauses,  for  Longwortb,  pursuing  bis  way  steadily  qver 
tbe  grass,  stands  before  them  at  thé  moment.  One  keen 
glance  takes  in  tbe  three  faces  ;  tbe  white,  cold  anger  of  the 
elder  sistër,  the  flushed  and  downcast  face  of  the  younger, 
with  tear  traces  still  on  the'cheeks,  tbe  darkly  handsome,' 
half-suUen,  balf  impassioned  countenance  of  tbe  young  man 
standing  almost  like  a  culprit  before  them. 

"  Well,  Reine,"  Mr.  Longwortb  begins,  lifting  bis  hat, 
"if  I  do  not  too  greatly  interrupt  you,  and  you  are  quite 
ready " 

She  turns  to  him  as  be  fancies  almost  with  an  air  of  relief 
and  «places  her  hand  on  bis  arm.  Marie's  face  changes  in- 
stantaneously  as  sbe  turns  brigbtly  to  him. 

"Ifitistimefor  Reine's  departure  it  musl  also  be  time 
for  mine.     Miss  Hariott  and  I  were  to  return  as  we  came 
with ^  .  ' 

"  I  met  Dexter  just  now,  looking  for  you.     Miss  Hariott  is 
already  in  the  carriage.     If  you  like  I  will  take  you  to  her  " 
i    "Tljgnks— yes."  "  ^ 

She  takes  Longwortb's  arm  without  one  parting  glance  at 
Durand,  and  the  three  move  off  But  Reine  looks  back, 
turnmg  an  appealingj,  wistful,  tender  little  face. 

"  Adieu,  Léonce,"  she  says,  «  au  revoira 


Hc^bowB  tolierOTûttëÔusryrffiënrtuSiirôFhu  hecl,  an4 


walks 


away. 


* 


-4i^ 


lr 


*!»' 


_.  ,  L.  i>jari,i3.'4^v. .  jf  ^j^. 


V*mA. 


-«<••        Âb 


«  %a  iSsif^ 


u 


"SILBKT  AKD  TRUE." 


259 


Miss  Landdie  tak«  her  place  beside  Miss  Hariott,  and 

r^rth  hTr-  "^  L°  """'  ""  '°l  '^"^S»  ™  <*'<='■  Long 
worlh  has  dn«„  her,  sttnds.     Hl?hands  lier  i„  and  takes  L 

place  besidehei-m  perfe«  silence.     Once  or  twice  ,h.-  dark 

eyes  lîB  and  look  a.  him.     The  stern  expression  „hich  un- 

consaouriy  to  hu,«elf  his  face  wears,  bodes  „o  especia", 

sTeeoS  1„^  «e  J.o.hi„g  of  .he  beauty  of  ,he  Sun. 

«eeped  landsc^pe  stra.ght  ahead.     He  drives  slowly,  and 
surely  a  fairer  view  neverstretched  before  levers'  eye»     The 

o^l'^X'^t  '"  *r  '""V"  ""«■  «^^  "^^  '^-^  -«  ^ 
one  of  die  pleasantest  and  most  picturesque  of  ail  the  Bav- 

ifdh  T'^û""  «P""'"»*»"».  O"  the  left  fields  of  corn 
«nd^buckwhUt,  and  beyond  .hem,  stretching  fat  away,  Z 
dark  dense  "fores,  primeval."  S.raigh.  before^ose'p  .he 
black  s.aeks  .f  fac.o.y  chimneys,  ,he  nun*erless  Windows  c^ 
the  huge  bnck  facones  gUnting  in  U,e  ruby  ligh.  like  sparks 

I.  has  been   «ui.  .ha.  enough  of  .he  leaven  of  poe.ic  folly 
y..  I.ngered  ,„  .h,vedi,or  of  ,he  /»,„■.  .0  re,der  hi™  kj: 
«nsible  of  sunset  and  jpoon.rise  effects,  and  other  a.n,o,i 
phenc  ■nfl«nces;  as  a*le.  ,00,  he  was  considered  a  m»  • 
of  Sound  sensé  and  logical  judg™e.tf  i^„,_.i  To  be  wi«,  anS 
love  eveed,  &„•»  ,.,enah,"  «idlie  is  disposed   .0  te  * 
ne..her  w.«  nor  logical  jus,  a.  Uns  moment     He  looks  likl" 
»m.  handsome.  blond  d«p„.,  abou.  .0  admini..er  &mll 
«rlgfo         *  '»"»»«'*  comumaciou,  member  of  Ae    ' 

You  look  bored,  you  look  ill,  you  look,  .frange  to  ur  a. 


-feough  yen  liaj  bteu  uying.»= 

ae  make,  no  leply.    She  àt,  gadng  «:roM  at  tbo  pink 
flush  upon  die  w«ter.  .  ,  "■•.  pm» 


■J 


.,/  Xik 


"ê 


m-         JiAi'-t 


■\  •■■ 


i 


360 


-  ** FILENT  AND  TRUBr 


"The  unexpected  coming  df  M.  Durand  hâs  not  been  I 
fear,  a  wlK)lly  unalloyed  deJight  Taking  people  by  surprise 
«  most^r  a  mistaké.  And  yet  you  were  glad  to  see  hixn,  I 
tninkr 

He  makes  this  assertion  with  emphasis,  and  looks  at  her 
for  reply.     She  speaks  slowly.         v  . 

"  r  was  glad  to  se6  him— yes.    I  shall  alVays  be  glad  to 
;  see  Léonce."     .    \        ■  * 

.  Her  coloi-  returns  a  little  as  she  says  it.  It  is  to  be  waf 
between  them,  and  tbough  she  may  prefer  peace,  if  war  is  to 
be  made,  she  is  not  disposed  to  turn  coward.  The  m-à-me 
is  not  to  be  an  agreeable  ofte,  and  she  braces  herself  for  her 
»«f)arl  iij  it.  -s  ,      ^  ^ 

"Your  sister  hardly  appeap  to  share  in-yoor  gladness. 
His  coup  de  théâtrg^h^  has  rather  the  look  of  a  theatrical 
gentleman,  by  the  way)-^is  evidently  si^gularly  unM^elcome 
to  her.     tor  you,  mademoiselle,  if  it  were  not  the  wildest 

ySupposition  m  the  world,  I  should  say .» 

"  Yes  !  "  she  says,  her  dark  eyes  kindling  ;  «  go  on." 
^    "  That  yoH  were  afraid  of  him." 

^  He  hears  her  catch  her  breath  with  a  quick,  nervous  sound. 
but  she  laughs  shortly. 

"  You   watch  well,  monsieur  I     What  other  wiïd  supposi-  * 
tions  hâve  you  foi-med  ?    Had  I  known  I  was  under  surveil- 
lance I  might  hâve  been  on  guard.^  For  the  future  I  wiU 
cndeavor  to  be  more  careful." 

She  meets  his  glance  now  fully,  ^âringly,  defiantly.  He  il 
determined  to  hâve  war,  and  sl^e  is  singulàrly  reckless  and 
disposed  to  oblige  him.  A  green  gleam  on  one  of  her  hand$ 
catches  his  eye-it  is  à  ring  ahd  she  is  slowly  turnihg  it  round 
and  round.  A  ring  on  the  finger  of  Reine  Landelle  is  some- 
thing  remarkable.  Except  the  traditional  diamond  solitaire 
he  himself  has  giyen  her^  and  which  she  haa  worn  since  their 
.«ngijgement,  he  has  netei- ééèn  airihg  on  the  «man  brown^ 
hand.    T  le  beat  has  caused  her  to  remore  both  glovcs,  thef 


•ar-i*?^ 


i'%- 


.•^ 


\^' 


^S/LE//r  ÂND  TXUJS:* 


261 


lie  a  cniiiipled  bail  in  her  lap/and  on  the  ^rst  fipger  ôf  her 
t  m  ^^"^  ^^  ''^^  "°^  *"  emerald'of  beauty  and  price.  * 

_    «A  prettjR  ring,  Reine,"  hç  says.     ««You  never  wore  it 
before.     It  is  quite  new  to  me." 

"  It  is  quite  newr  to  me  also,  monsieur,"  r  f 

"Ah^youdidnothaveitonthisraoming."  ' 

"No,  M.iongworth,  I  did  not." 

"?robably"_he  flecks  the  off  horse  %htly  with  bis  whip 
as  he  speaks— «  it  is  a  gift  from  your  cousin  and  brother  M. 
, Durand?  "    ■     — 

«  Monsieur's  pénétration  does  him  crédit.  Jt  is  from  M. 
Durand."  ,  . 

**  He  bas  seiected  an  unfortunate  color,  I  am  afraid. 
Green  mcans  forsaken,  or  faithless,  or  soroething  of  the  sort, 
does  it  not?" 

"  If  it  does  then  his  choice  bas  been  prophétie,"  she  says, 
lookmg  down  at  it,  and  speaking  it  seems  as  much  to  herself 
as  to  him. 

"IndeedI"     He  looks  at  her  steadfastly,  so  steadfastly    ' 
and  long  ^that  her  color  rises.     "  Çut  faith  may  be  restored, 
may  \t  not,  and  the  forsaken  be  recalled  ?    It  is  never  too 
late  for  ahything  of  that  kind  while  p^e  live.     Let  me  see 

^he  i^9  it  off  her  finger  without  a  word,  the  défiance  of    . 
her  manner  more  défiant  than  ever.    It  is  ^  thick  band  of 
gold,  set  with  fne  emerald,  large,  limpid-^  jewel  ^  beauty 
and  price.    Andgiiïde  on  the  smooth  gold  are  thèse  vords  : 
'*  btLENT  xJtd  True."  Êj^    '  '^  -mw.     , 

^   "A  pretty  ring,"  LoQgworth^eats,  ànd  gives^Ëck, 
«  an4  a  pretty  motto.    One  hardly  knows  which"  to ^mir, 
inost.*  -^       .d 

^^  *  n>an  of  M.  Longworth's  pracrical  turrt,  surely  the 


emerald,"  Rane  r(^orti.    î^iîence  and  truth  are  virtue» 


with  which  he  is  hardly  likcly  to  crédit  so  poor  iciiituw 
a  wonian."         '  -  # 


«w 


^^^ 


■*■ 


.  ,^tJ  i ..  .■^«'.V', .' . 


%■ 


•u. 


**S/ZEJ\rr  ANL    TR 


a-  mistake,  ifiade 
be  both^Uetit  an 


Sa       K 


_«,  you  a 
fite-  sees 

^  k  ?^lfi<'^t»^^<*^st  and  love 

^rth."  she  exclaîms,  "^^  |ums  upon 
;4o  you  mean  ?    You  suspect  me  of  som*. 
tell  me  of  what  ?  »      1%  -  '    ' 

X. .       ^/  •H'^^J®'''"  ^^  answers,  i|aghiy  and  abruntlv 
««d-passion  m  his  voice  t*  *"  toruptiy, 

^-^is  still  looking  at  hi.^  coldly,  SfedW      As  he  .^ 
fte^  words  the  colo.flushes  redly  o!:;^  whole  k^     U 
%,"  ^»»«  ^ery  firSJ^  time  he  bas  ever  seen  hllh^h  1^!*  2 

atonce  ,^^s  u  1.^  a  shamed  child  inè  h<^  hand^ 
Oh     she  says.  under  her  breath,  '♦  do  you  care  ?  » 
Somethmg~he  cannotr  tell  what-Iin  the  blush  In  fh.  î 
Ptrfs.ve.  childish,  .^amefa^ed  action  "n  the^lVS         T 
■  touch  him  curio^islv    but  \t  i^„T^      *^V     ''^"^  '^°'"^'' 
moved.  T  '  "°  ^'"'*  ^°  ^^'  '^^^  see  he  is 

_  "  Well,  in  a  gênerai  way,"  he  ânswers  coolly    «  men  do 
object  to  seemg  another  màn  go  through  that  sort  of  n    r 
ance  with  th*.  la^„  fk^  -       """s"  mat  sort  of  perform- 

ance with  the  lady  they  expect  to  marry,  naturally  prefeï-rin<r 
to  retam  the  patent-right  themseïves.  Now.  it  is  a  3 
hâve  nevpr  asserted,  never  inténd  to  assert  u^,!  ^ 

a  mor.  friendly  understandmg  thl^rd^'^^''  "'  '°™^  '^ 
gardenwali;    I  may  ask  a  lady  tomarr  "^ 

no  regardfor  me.  hoping  in' time  - 
P^^'^'^g^l^nning  I  enforce  «o  él' 

j^^^^^^^^  ^"y  man.the  right. 

^^ine  fâct  br  alf/frîvileges  bein/î  <léi^M.m.  ™.         , 


V 


lich 


night  by  the 
no  professes 
regard,  but  • 
niutual  Ibve 


* 


i.\' 


>  *, 


w/. 


( 


•     #1; 


-    y.  K  'il- 


^ 


h 


^I^ENi 


«63 


m 


■t'^ 


»«J»<=eor<I«l  ,0  MoAer  n^an.  J  do  m  pain  y„.,,  1  iop^ 
Mlle.  Reme,  and  I  ,n>st  yL  „ndcrstand  me  f  ••  "^  ' 

der«^^T  ""''«Mand  hil  but  he  ceruinly  has  never  un 

me  ,0  Man'eZou  sa7vl  Wo     """^  '^°"-^'"'  P"'" 

-  *is^eyo'uM^nV°'' "'"""'"'•  ^""" 

.ba"k  LTf'"'"''"''"  «■K'-'Sr  ^"'«ed,  soutterly-taken 
«bact,  that  for  a  momei^t  he  ca^ot  find  words  to  Zl? 
Th  s  «  cer,a,n.y  carrying  ,hé«„  i^^rf,^  iHwlrwS 

"M.den,oi«tle,"  he  iays,  "I  hâve  asked  you  .0  be  my 
wife.     You  are  answered."  .      \     ^ 

fc't^  ^''"'■««"ked  onè  of  Mrs.  Windsor',  hei^sseï 

preroga'^   TasÏ  a  ïf  "»"»'^.-«»K=  <>»  -an-,  solêx 
::te.^',*'  ^''  «-  ■"«■«  be  be«er  for  us  boU.  l  yot  , 

^2&"'™''"«'  "*«-'"">.*«  y-  p-pa«d- ° 


f  If  I  answer  'Éani'  are  vn..  «.j  *•  '.  .. 
what  nV  hinj.  •    ?  .     "'  >^°'<J?W  to4eU  me  exactlr 
wnat  tie  binds  you  to  téo*»*  Durand?  ••  '^' 


■«i 


■t»HW^i.wTlw?— 


'.•\ 


N^. 


264 


^, 


**SH.ENT  AND   TUl/EJ" 


\ 


"And  yet,"  she  says,  with  a  slow,  bitter  smile,  "there  are 
*  men  who  do  it."  ' 

'•  Meaning  Monsieur  Léonce  Durand  ?" 
=^,    "Meai^ing  Léonce  Durand,  if  you  like.    He  is  quite 
jcapable  of  it." 
."But  surely  that  is/ not  exacted.    I  think  he  receives 
somethîng.     I  really  se|e  no  reason  why  he  should  be  djssatis- 
fied     A)  làdy  accepts  his  ring  and  his  embraces  both  with 
equal  rVàdiness  and  pleasure  ;  she  decUnes  taking  into  his 
confiden<;ie  and  her  own  the  man  shç  stands  pledged  to  marry. 
Of  the  tW6  she  greatly  prefers  and  trusts  him,  beyond  ail 
dispute.     Ifo,- 1  «ee  no  reason  M{hy  he  shoUld  complain." 

"  Monsieur  Longworth,"  Ripine  cries,  turning  upon  hira, 
her  tenîp<*f  held  partly  in  untU  now,  refusing  to  be  held  in  a 
moment  Ronger,  "  enough  of  this  !  Do  you  want  to  quarrel 
with  me  ?  Do  you  want  me  to  give  you  up  ?  Please  say  so, 
if  you  do.  It  is  better  to  understand  one  another.  I  disHKfe 
quarrelihg,  and  my  head  aches," 

/Her  voice  trembles  and  .breaks  for  the  first  time.  Her 
head  does'ache  throbbingly,  apd  she  puts  he^and  to  it  with 
a  weary,  hopeless  sort  of  gesture,  In  a  momlnt  he  is  touched 
and  remorseful. 

**  J  J>eg  your  pardon,"  he  says,  penifcently,  with  a  swift  apd 
total  change  of  manner.  «  Yes,  I  see  it  açhes.  I  wén't 
annoy  you  any  more.  Petite  Reine,  forgive  me." 
î  She  has  been  ovenvrought,  excited,  terrified,  troubled; 
tlie  unexpected' change  in  him  from  cold  sarcasm  to  kind- 
liness  is  too  muçh  for  her.  She  bows  her  face  ift  her  hand?, 
aïid  he  knows  that  she  is  crying.  \ 

"  Oh,  forgive  me  1  "  he  eJtclaims.     "  This  is  too  bad  I     I 
am  a  brute  !    Reine— dear  Little  Queen— •'• 

He  half-eB<iircles  her  with  his  arm.  jl&  the  ques<Son  asked 

by  her  sq  haughti(y  a  moment  ago,  declined  by  him  so  coldlj, 

^IBbut  to  be  tenderly  answered  now  ?    If  so,  fate  interposes. 

Wheelsthat  hâve  been  gaining  upon  them  for  some  time 


'rf 


i¥ 


*^^ 


n 


**SILENT  AND  T, 


^ItUE.'* 


\_ 


265 


Sheldon,  a„d  Léonce  Durand  himself,  rolls  pa...  '  ^i 

Keme,  for  Heaven's  «;alr*»  1  "  k^  «  • 

<rfa  scène;  "hé.  a^elutJ,  pe„;re!r:"^"^"''''°™^: 

But  he  need  not  fear.     His  half  Caress  has  startled  h„  ^ 

mto  composure  n,ore  effective^  Aan  the   bTrouThe     She  ' 

«.s  resolwely  erec.,  ready  ,„  return  the  quarte,  of^ws  wiA  ' 

proud  cymposure.    The  barouche  keeps  iast  aïLn  7    1 

small  steadL;  K^  '  '°  ^ongworth  that  those 

pages.     Nothing  more  can  be  said  and  one  JLiir  .       7J 
opportunities  is  forever  Ittst.  *      '  «°'"'™ 

What  can  Durand  be  doing  there  in  that  carriaglfe  that 
KL  1  ""'"«'"  °f  "«"h;  but  he  is  an  e.p  J^j*? 

streets  onhe  to.!;  b^^^^t  Je"L^;rrrX"; 
P^^s  of  the  sunset  hâve  faded  ou.  into  pallid  grays.     Mada.ne 

«Pon\he.  tetin^'-S  r^SL^r  '^^ 

hô  frce":he"nM"'':^"""°^°  "''  «ailfKrht 
"Rebe^"  Â^"^  *ro»s  opcn  the  door  an<i  enters. 

"  in  S,  ^  ^       ""'  "'"'  ''"«"^^  abruptness  for  her 

■n  he  name  of  Heaven,  what  is  to  be  done  no*  ?  •■  * 

I  do  not  know,"  Reine  a^swers.  despairingly. 

"  To  thmt  of  hts  coming  afVer  ail  his  promises  I     To  thint       ■ 

«.eine  J  tBls  is  ruin  to  us  ail."  *^cujc  i 


--rifflew  iÇ' Reine  answers  agàin,  in  the 


t 


tone. 


same  despairing 
see  it 


"Already  Laurence  Jx,ngworth  suspects;  I  coold 


iv,,^y 


'  JAwfeiaÉBfe 


■v.v;*' 


l# 


^*SILENT  AND  TRUEy 

\  .  .s  •  '        f 

(Il  his  cye,  those' cold,  keen,  pitiless  Mue  eyea,  that  lee 
everything.  I  trembled  for  you  when  we  parted.  Petite, 
was  the  drive  homeverv^^adful  ?" 

*eine  inake«|^|IÉ$^S!Slied  i^sttife  that  speaks  volumes. 

"  Ah  1  I  knew  ît.     Chère  Petite,  how  sorry  I  am  for  you. 

WhatdidhesayP"  /  ^    % 

^  "Marie,  do  not  ask  me.     IJe  had  the  right  to  .Épallhe 

éaid,  and  more.    It  is  ail  wrong  and  treacherous,  and  false 

and  misérable  together." 

«'  If  grandmammà  hears^— and  she  must  surely  h^r,  every» 

tbing  is  known  to  everybody  in  this  stupid  gossiping  town 

%    we  are  lost.    He  is  so  reckless,  so  insàne.    Oh,  Mon  DUu  / 
r      why  did  he  come  X\  '    /  * 

"  Marie,  he  had  the  rigth  to  come-«-—  'J|(É^ 

"Rightl    You  are  always  talking  of  right     He  bas  n 
%  righjt  to  come  hère  and  ruin  us.     He  is  base  and  false,'he 
Imrs  broken  his  [M-omise,  and  I  will  never  forgive  hiro  for  it 
Nal  "  Marie  Landelle  says,  uplifting  one  white  hand,  "  I  will 
never  foif-give  h^  to  ray  dying  day."     i 


"Marie  f*'*'     'l  ■«»%. 

wii^^ver  foi|;iTe  bim^^nd  you  know  me,  Reine — I 
t  ^  to  say  and  noj:  do.  For  -pàn — oh,  Petite,  be 
«^Méful,  be  prudent;  don't  mçei  lûm,  donft  answer  if  he 
wnt^jSiliy  abdxoax^rfrigjïtei^pn  into  going  away.  You 
flpay  C8fe  îfÀ  hiiWi^Jfou  Fill,  w»t  I  wish— J  wi||ki--I  wish 
#ith  ail  my  hèart  \  hs^m^er  seen  his^^ej'f       ' 


■'«,-; 


She^ys  itin^voVwiâ^  bitter  earaéîtaess  there  is  no 
mistaking^    IWk  looks  athârabnostai^ly.        / 

"  |S^a|ie,  thi|^Ri(4Mf  this  is.  intolérable.  You  hâve  no 
nght- i  w  f-'    ■■■'  __ 

"Right  agai^  !  Ah,  Petite,  what  a  foolish  child  you  are, 
It  is  ail  his  own  fault,  and  I  say  s^in  frcnn  the  bottom  of  my 
h^Ttf  I  jndi JLhad  fteiagr  jBgen  T.éonr^^  DliraDiL  Rtjpg.  take 


off  thaJ  ring — hpw  imprudent  to  wear  it    Why,  Mr.  Long» 
worth  œ%ht  haye  «eep  it" 


'.-■fL" 


i 


is,  *"" 


!J* 


'4    I 


that  lee 
Petite, 

volumes. 
I  for  you. 

Ifallhe 
ukI  false 


ir,  every<. 

;  town— 
M  Dieut 

"  4, 


î  bas  ni 
false^'^he 
m  for  it 
,  "I  wiU 


teine— I 
etite»  be 
er  if  he 
y.  You 
— I  wish 

te  is  no 

lave  no 

)rou  are. 
n  (^  my 


**XnjîI/T  AND  TRUE!* 


267 


1 


*    - 

%-^ 


•*  He  bas  seen  it,.  Marie." 
**  Reine  I" 


%  "He  asked  me  who  gave  it  to  me  and  I  told  liim  hhe  took 
It  off  and  read  the  motto;  he  is  jealous  and  angry,  and 
suspects  more  than  I  care  to  think.  Oh,  Marie,  I  said  from 
the  first  it  was  ail  wrong  to  conje." 

Marié  sits  for  a  moment  looking  crushed.  Then  the  old 
.«teadfaaiexpression  returns. 

"  Reine,"  slie  says,  calmly,  "  give  me  that  ring,"  an^  Reine 
'  weanlyobeys.  ."Atleast  ail  is  not  lost  thafs  in  danger,  and 
we  need  not  accept  defeat  without  a  struggle.  Ah  !  whkt  à 
pity  it  i?,  whén  ail  was  going  so  well— grandmamma  almost 
reconciled,  you  engaged  ttf  her  favorite,  life  so  pleasant  and 
free  from  care " 

«AndtFrankDexter  so  infatuatedly  in  love  with  you, 
don't  leave  that  out,"  Reine  interrupts,  coldly. 

«♦Ishall  struggle  for, my  place  hère  until  the  very  last," 
goes  on  Miss  Landelle,  unheeding;  "if  J  âm  defeated  it  wiU 
be  because  fate  is  stronger  than  I.  Help*  me,  Reine,  and 
make  Léonce  go  away.     You  can  do  it." 

**CanI?  Idoubtit.  Hefrenthpmethisaftemoonwith 
Madame  Sheldon-that  looks  as  if  he  had  made  up  his  mind 
to  stop  at  her  bouse  for  some  timcp^      '  '    . 

«  Good  Heaven  1  And  there  h^^jj^eet  Mn  Longworth 

"  And  Mr.  D^xter,  do  not  forget  hira.'» 

••  I  am  not  afraid  of  Dexter,  I  am  of  your  argus-eyed  fiancé. 
Well!— there  is  the  bell— there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  do 
one's  best  and  wait." 

The  sist€rs  descend,  and  Longworth  noHces  at  once  that 
the  emerald  bas  left  Reine's  hand.  He  sees  too  tlie  constraint 
of  her  manner,  her  lack  of  appetîte,  her  saence  and  denrée 


-iSônT-Mîss^  TOiott^aio  observesit,  and  m>ndersifin  any 
way  the  arrif||*of  the  very  handsorae  young  Frenchman  haa 
•nythuig  to  do  with  it.    In  some  way  the  conversation  drifls 


.  Long- 


»<. 


s»' 


^4^* 


i6S 


'SILENT  AND  TRUE}* 


to  hini,  his  name  is  mentioned,  and  Mrs.  Windsoillifts  two 
surprised,  displeased,  and  inquiring  eyes  to  the  facï  of  Mia 
Landelle.  ■  \ 

"Monsieur  Durand-si  friend  of  Injy  granddaughters? 
.  Who  is  this  gentleman,  Marie  ?  " 

"  No  onfe  very  formidable,  gTandmamma.  A  sort  of  cousin 
of  Reine's,  her  aunf  s  stcp-son,  and  her  companion  from  child- 
hood." 

*'  What  brings  him  hère  ?  " 

"  Really  I  do  not  know.  To  see  the  country,  in  the  first 
place,  I  présume— to  see  us  in  the  second" 

"  Monsieur  Durand  is  then,  I  infer,  a  man  of  means  ?  " 

"  Yes— no— he  is  not  rich,  cértainly,  as  you  count  richçs 
hère,  but  I  suppose  he  has  À  compétence  at  least." 

"You  appearout  of  spirits,  Mlle.  Reine,"  says  Mrs.  Wind- 
sor,  who  seldom  addresses  her  younger  granddaughter  without 
the  prefix  ;  "  doeslhe  coming  of  this  relative  annoy  you  ?  " 

"  His  coming  has  annoyed  me,  Madame— yes,"  Reinç  re« 
sponds. 

"  Might  one  venture  to  ask  why  ?  " 

There  is  silence.  Mrs.  Windsor"  s4>row  is  overcast.  Reine'i 
eyes  are  fixed  on  her  plate— she  seems  unable,  or  resolved 
not  to  answer.  Marie  cornes  swiftly  and  smilingly  to  the 
rescue. 

"The  truth  is," ^he  says,  with  ^n  outbreak  of  frankness, 
"  Léonce  is  an  opéra-bouffe  singer,  and  has  crossed  with  a 
Company  from  Paris,  to  sing  in  New  York,  and  Reine,  who 
is  proud  in  spite  of  her  demureness,  is  half-ashamed  to 
mention  it." 

Reine  does  not  look  up,  does  not  speak.  Mrs.  Windsor's 
browdarkens  more  and  more. 

"That  îs  odd,  too,"  she  says,  icily,  «since  I  understand 
mademoiselle  makes  no  secret  of  having  heen  trained  for-th^ 


operatic stage  herself.     Opera-singing appears  to  haventn  ia 
the  family  of  the  late  Madame  Durand»" 


■  / 


^i 


1^ 


'r<i"-i"'P^   /  *''^'f4-ï4""'  ''' "    ,'''.'/'    '-,i^ 


.-i^.,;).  r  '  fjCpL 


"s/i£/\rr  AND  Txas* 


26g 


he  po»* 


«ttrpnsc;  — ^ 
'    "ThanW'  he  says,  suid  drops  her  hand. 
tnyself  of  the  kind  peiinission." 


Every  one  sits,  feeling  warra  and  uncomfôrtable,  during 
this  discussion.  Frank  shows  his  discomfort,  Longworth 
wears  hts  inipassive  niask,  Miss  Hariott  isnervous.  ,Some-' 
thing  causes  her  to  distrust  Marie  and  het  frank  announce- 
^noent  of  Durand's  profession — Reine  bas  not  indorsed  her 
statement  by  look,  or  sign,  or  word. 

Longworth,  too,  seerningïy  absorbed  in  iced  pudding,  also 
notices.  Sq^iething  lies  befiind  the  opera-bouffe — some- 
thing  both  sisters  are  ashamed  of,  afraid  of. 

"  Our  French  friend,  with  the  ^rimo  ténor e  voice^hd  air, 
is  evidently  a  black  sheep,  a  veiy  speckly  potatô,  and  th© 
tiightmare  of  thèse  young  demoiselles,"  he   thinks.     "  If   ' 
Reine  would  only  be  frank  and  trust  me,  and  tell  me  ail." 

But  Reine  tells  nothing,  and  the  evening  that  ensues  is 
rartier  dreary  to  ail,  except  Frjwïk,  who,  beside  his  idol,  is 
ever  in  «  perfect  bathos,^bliss.  Rçine  sings,  and  the 
oth^rs  play  whist,  butjthe  music  is  melancholy,  and  the  card 
pâr^'duIL  Even^ss  Hariott's  constitutional  good  spirits 
feél  /tlie  dèpTès^n  and  out-of-sorts  sensation  that!  usually 
follows  a  hot  day's  sight-seeiug,  and  she  is  glad  wheft  eleven 
cornes,  and  she  can  rise  and  go  home. 
,  *^Am  I  forgiven?"  Longworth  says,  in  a  low  voice,  to 
Reine,  as  hç  holds  out  his  hand  at  parting.  "  I  pained  you  to- 
day  by  ipy  fancie»  j  I  will  try  and  not  oflfend  in  the  ftiture." 
'  j$ut  ^e  hàis  stung  ân(i  wouhded  Reine  more  deebly  than 
\ié  kn6>Wi8^  ànd  i^e  is  not  disposed  to  accord  pardon  and 
peace  1^  Aprord.  ' 

Bur  |<ongworth  is  a  poet  and  a  novelist  ; 
»es»<^  a^firiUiant  imagi  and  fancies  many  thjngs,  no 

doublT^^'W  f<(»'  thè  v^^  that  imagination  it  i^  hardly 
fair  t#^hold  W  àOGOuntabie.  He  is,  however,  so  far  ks  I  aro 
concernedr  aï  lib€|iy  td  Êincy  what  he  pleases.*' 
-— ^He  tunwhfw^wrth  énger^md^ 


■'k- 


"Iwill  avaîl 


\ 


/' 


2/0-  ,  «  TO  BB   WISE,  AND  LOVE,»  ETC. 

He  has  tbought  she  will  only  be  too  glac^V  meet  the  olive 
brandi  half  way  ;  for  this  bold  aefiance  he  is  not  prepared. 
But  he  is  obhged  to  own  to  himself  that  he  has  n^ver 
thoug^t  her  so  nearly  beautiful  as  when  shc  looks  up  at  hua 
with  those  bnghtly.  darkly  angry  eyes,  and.brav^  him  to  hig 
face.  Ile  almost  laughs  aloud  as  he  thinks  oC  this  novel  and 
remarkable  way  of  winning  a  woman's  heart.      " 

"'Was  ever  woman   in    this  humor  wooed-was  ever 
woman  in  this  humor  won  ?  '  "  he  thinkg,  grimly.     But^h.  . 
,  humihatihg  fact  to  ^oman  !~because  ànother  man  vdues 
his  pri7.e,heis  doubly  determined  to  win  it, -values  it  hitû- 
self  for  that  reason  the  more,  and  under  the  blue  starlight . 
registers  a  vow  to  ail  the  gods,  that  hb,  not  this^intrusive 
J?renchman,  shall  win  and  wear  Reine  Landelle. 


^ 


CHAPTER  XX.  ' 

E   WISE,   AND   LOVE,   EXCEEDS   MAN's   STREN6XH."  ,> 

b  *  ■  ■  ■ 

DARK  ^nd  sul#y  August  evening,  th^  sky  black, 
overcast,  .and  <threateni%  rain.  In  IVirs.  Long- 
t^orth's  boarding-house  many  lights  are  lit,  ail  the 
•jrmdowts  stand  wide,  mosquito-nets  drawn  across,  wooing  thfe 
breeze  that  never  cornes.  Even  on  the  bayUp»  breatk  of  air 
s(?rs  this  oppressive  evenihg-it  lies  ail  black  and  br^eless 
«nder  the  low4yîng  sky,  only  murmuring  in  a  sort  of  omind.^ 
spfàsh  down  on  the  beach  belpw.    ,     .       •  .' 

Mrs.  Sheldon  ^its  by  the  wiodô^' of.  her  room/tf,e  muslih 
ciTrtaina  drawn  to  screen  her  from  passing  éyes,  her  fair, 
nearlyxolorless  e/ebrows  bent  in  profound  thought.  One  foo 
_ggP'^^P!^tly  the  hassbck  upon  whtdjt  relts.    Dii»>^^ 


,.  'T 


■i:. 


u  over;  ^e^nliearvoices  and  lauglneiTdçi^oii  thestoop, 
«nd  the  odor  of  cigars  cornes  floatii^  "p.  .  J^e  listen*  wWi     • 


K 


.-i^ 


he  olive 
epared. 
}  n'ever 
'  at  hiid 
H  to  his 
vel  and 

is  ever 
ut»^h,  . 
vjtlues 
it  hirn- 
tarlight .. 
trusive 


TH." 

black,  '  n 
Long- 
lU  the 
ngthfe,  , 
o(  air   „ 
zeles^ 
tindus 

luslih 

fair, 

:  foot 


T 


». 


-$ 


l 


"  rO  BÈ  tV/SE,  AND  lOVÉ,»  ETC. 


271 


«n  intent  look,  she  can  hear  the  harmpnious  foreign  accented 
voice  of  Léonce  Durand,  his  low,  sarcastic  laughtçr— she  can 
even,  leaning  out,  catch  a  glimpse  of  his  slender  figure  as 
he  lefos  negligently  against  one  of  the  vine-wealhed  pillars, 
and  ge^ulates  and  talks.  The  light  from  the  pkrlor  lamps 
streams  over  the  dark  Southern  beauty  of  his  face;  his  very. 
attitude  is  fuU  of  easy  debonair  grâce  ;  his  voice  is  singula^ly 
sympathetic  and  musical,  but  Ihere  is  much  less  of  féminine 
admiration  t^an  baffled  féminine  cutiosity  in  the  pale,  puzzled 
blue  eyes  that  regard  him.  ^' 

"Whais  he?"  she  thinks.  «What  is  he  to  Reine  Lan- 
délie?  VVhy  has  he  corne  hère?  Why  does  he  remain? 
Why  are  both  thèse  French  girls  afraid  of  him  ?  For  even 
the  elder,  in  spite  of  the  cold  disdain  w:ith  which  she  treats 
him,  is  afraid  of  him,  I  can  see,  in  hei^  secret  hçart  But 
Reine— if  I  only  knew  what  he  is  to  her— if  I  only  knew 
what  this  letter  means." 

.  She  takes  her  pocket-book  out,  opens  it,  and  draws  forth 
4  tornsrvscrap  of  paper.  It  is  ,a  fragment  of  a  letter,  torn 
acrOss,  a  portioh  of  one  corner,  it  seems,  written  in  Fretîch, 
in  a  hght,  délicate  hand.  She  has  chanced  upon  it  in 
Durand's  room,  this  very  dfty,  lying  with  a  heap  of  charreti 
scraps  in  the  empty  grate.  '    ■ 

Mrs.  Sheldon's  fanjjjparily  with  the  French  langùagé,  is  not 
great,  but  it  is  suffi<j^e^nt,  with  the  help  df  a' dictionary,  to 
translate  fKis  scrap  into  English.  "feo'  translfcted  il  fs  still 
piuzUng  :  ; 


v: 


^'luelfto  for  yoa  to  aa]^ 
,  will  soTer  forgive  yon  ^ 


iî- 


toop, 
»wttli 


^ 


* 


f     f\ 


^~-V 


IF^ 


Jneet  70a  this  on 
dangi^ir  In  olam 


=t^|t 


*^ 


d^. 


Éf* 


tLU* 


«) 


,*U 


)' 


/ 


Ï72 


"ro  Bi    HTISE,  AND  lOFE,"  ETC. 


tha    W^.  W  ndsor  has  forbidden  hira  her  Kouse  frora  ,he 
firsL     Wl,a.  .s  ..  tha.  i.  is  „.e,ess  for  hi™  .„  a»k  ?    WW 

rol^h,™     Tr-  '7'''  "'■"'   """"^  ='""  -h'»  «  ^he 

or  going.     If  I  could  only  understand.     This  much  is  easilv 
enough  understood-there  is  so„=  important  sacre,  ^^e^ 
h.m  a„d'Re.„e  Landelle,  and  where  .hère  is  secret  *er" 
n,us,  be  gu,l.     Mrs.  Windsor  has  forbidden  ail  in,erco!rr 
and  ye.  she  n,ee.s  him  clande.Unely.  ■  And  Uurenc  TproS 

Ô  fa""r   w'hTrr'  ""r^-''»»'"  P'<>«i"g.  «r  .relc'her^ 
or  fals,.y     Wha.  ,f,  after  aTl,  X  oan  take  hin,  fr„,„  her  ye.  ?" 
-     She  replaces  .he  torn  scrap  carefuUy,  and,  slill  wiA  k„i.,ed 
brows  and  closed  lips,  muses  intemly.  ""  Knitted 

;;  To  think  of  his  falling  in  love  wifh  her-.hat  li.tle  dark 
^,n  creamre  1     And  af.er  ail  ,hose  years.  when ,    .honl'' 
and  I  fancy  he  .hough.,  >he   capability  was  g„„e  forëve 

,Oh     itl  had  only  known  in  thepi^t-ifl  hadonlybeen 

us,  or  if  tha.  dead  suramer  coold  only  re.urn  !  He  gave  up 
for  ,ny  sake  h,„,e  and  fortune,  and  wen,  ou.  i„.o  the  worU 
.0  p^verjy  and  hard  work,  and  I  let  n>y  mo«,er  do  witlme 
as  she  chose,  and  married  a  man  I  cared  no^more  for  than 

She  rises  with  strange  émotion,  stonge  impeluosi.y,  for 

«dZn  ^^™"""''  """"""""^''""'^  b^inswalking  up 

."/ri,,oolate?'«sl.e.hinks;  is i. indeed  .oola.è ?  I  „i(I 

no.  beheve  ,.  I    Some  of^||^  passion  mus.  s.ill  remain. 

.  If  Reine  Landelle  were  H^Tm  of  r.y  way  I     If  I  could 

nnly  Hl.c  and  la,  plaus,  as  Ihcy  da  m  books  |    Bu.  womeo 

do  such  unpossible  Aings  in  books,  and  I  bave  no  head  to 


"•>  « 


-pf- 


"7*0  BE   WISE,  AND  LOVE,^-  ETC. 


273 


plotting.  Surely,  thou^,  with  the  help  oKhis  torn  Setter  and 
Léonce  Durand,  I  càh  do  something.  If  I  only  knew  what 
secret  is  between  them  ]  " 

An  outbreak  of  laughter  cornes  up  from  fhe  piazza.     She 
goes  to  the  wjpdow,  and  leans  feverishly  out.     Longworth  is 
not  there,  Dextér  is  not  there,  but  ail  the  other  gentlemen 
are,  and  O'Sullivan's  mellow  bass  leads  the  laugh.    Durand 
is  telïing  some  story-^ith  inimitable  drollery  and  mimicry, 
and  joins  with  génial  good  will  in  the  burst  of  merrime.nt  that 
foi;ows.     He  is  the  life  of  the  house,  his  furid  of  anecdote, 
repartee,  epigram,  and  racy  satire  seems  exhaustless  ;    hé 
plays  upon  the  piano  like  a  professional  ;  he  sings  like  a 
lesser  Mario,  he  dances  like  a  frenchman,  he  bows  and  pays 
compliments  with  the  easy  grâce  of  a  court  Chamberlain. 
What  isthere  charming'that  thirhandsome  and  elegarft  Mon- 
sieur  Durand  does  not?     Iji   à  week  he  has  won  golden 
opmions  from  ail  sort^.of  people.      Men  vote  him  a  prince 
of  good  fellows— a  little  toa'much  of  a  dandy  and  lady's  man, 
but  a  thorough  good  felloisr  ail  the  same.     Ladies  one  and  ail 
pronounce  him  «perf^rtl/  splendid,"  and  fall  in  love  with 
him   without   an   eflfoJ.     He  is   denied  admission  to  Mrs.  - 
Wintfeor's  ;  it  is  whispêrçtfabout  that  he  is  a  negro  minstrel, 
an  opéra  bouffe  singer.     Has  aot  Miss  Landel'e  said  .so  in 
Frank  Dexter-^bearing— Frank  Dexter  who  alone  hâtes  him 
^  ferociou^ly.     A  mystery  of  some  sort  envelops  him  in  a  deli- 
'  ciouâ  ha^e,  atid  ail  thèse'  things  go  to  make  him  still  more 
irresistibly  attractive.     He  has  fought  the  iVnssian  uKlans, 
been  wounded  at  Versailles,  taken  prisoner  at  Sedan.    What 
is  thçré  that  Monsieur  Durand  has  not  doue,  tan  not  do? 
Where  i^  there  he  has  not  been,  and  whether  opéra  singer  or 
exiled  pripce,  his  pockets  at  jçast  are  welUfiUed.     Adven- 
tuier  he  may  be,  needy  advd|lurer  he  is  not.     Ué  weaïs  the 


■  %■'  *■ 


:$ 


feeat  clothes;  smokca  the  besf 


cigâr»,  dnvës  the  best  horsea,' 
money  ean  procure.      «C  '  •'  ^^ 

m  is  aRo  an  âïîept  in  fcundry  li^  gimes  ol  skiU,  aftd  haf 


I' 


Ai 


SI 


274 


**rO  BE   WISE^  AND  LOVE,'*  ETC. 


proven,  once  or  twice,  over  the  card-table,  to  the  satisfactioe 

(or  otherwrise)  of  Mrs.  Longworth's  boarders,  tbat  he  can  win 

the^lars  of  the  gentlemen  as  easily  and  gracefuUy  as  the 

heftrts  of  the  ladies.     Witb  it  ail  he  is  a  puzzle.    Seèniingly 

he  is  frankness  itself  on  ail  subjects  ;  the  airy,  surface  nian- 

ner  he  wears  seems  transparent  as  glass,  and  stili  he  is 

baflling.    There  are  tiines  when  the  boarders  think  they 

^  know  alj  About  him-T-why  hè'îs  here,'how  he  stands  with  the 

^  PemoiseUes  LandeUe.;  and,  after  ail,  at  the  endt)f  the  first 

"  week,  they  hâve  to  aeknowledge  they  still  know  nothiflg. 

MHalf-past  eight,"  Mrs.  Sheidon  hears  him  say,  as  she 
stands  looking  and  listening  ;   "I  hâve  an  engagement  at 
mne.    Messieurs,  <iri|!f»M[w-*-gc)9d-night." 
Wfe  runs  down  the  steps. 

"Capital  little  fellow  1"    she  hears  Mr.   Beckwith  say. 
"  Never  thought  a  foreignerl  coul^  be  half  so  'cute.     You^ 
don 't  catch  me  playing  vinty-une  with  hini  again  in  a  hurry, 
noï  euchre  either.     Khows  a  sight  too  nnich  about  bothfor 
my  moneyi^a  cool  cfird  and  a  knowing,  bne."  - 

MonsieuADur^nd  has  ht  a  cigar,  an^  nioved  ofïTafîèr  the 
fashion  of  thlp  duke  în  Rigoletto  singingj  •«  ta  dmna  e  ma- 

bile:'    '  ~  ■■  ,  ;;■;      ^.  •-   .       .  *] 

An  engagement  at  nine.  What  can  it  be?  .A  5udden 
thought  strikesA^rs.  Sheidon.  She  hastily -catches  up  a 
light  shawl  and  hat,  leaves  her  room»  runs  do)»^  a  pair  of 
back  stairs,  and  so  out,  unseen  by  the  people  ^n  the  stoop, 
intô  the  street. 

M.  Durand  is  a  gentleman  of  leisurp,  a  believer,  évident*  " 
ly,  in  thé' Arabie  roaxim  that  "  Hurry  is  the  devil's.".  He 
does  not  hurry  now,  he  walks  away  quite^'slowly,  still  hum- 
ming,  under  his  breath,  the  air  from,  tHe  oper»,  and  Mrs. 
Sheidon  >without  the  least  trouble  Jceeps  him  in  view. .  Is  he 
going  to  the?  Stone  House  ?    Is  the  engagement,  jtnnounce^ 


i 


î 


. 


''^ 


\ 


^iih  sucn  ^:aoi  aud4CityriBF~âssrgnatîôn  oF  the  Icttcr  ?    Ii  ~ 
be  going  to  meet  Reiiw  l^elle  ?  \*^      *  ' 


y 


..A- 


i«t  '-.. 


'^^: 


"'^* 


;^      *■ 


■■(-;*■' 


V^l 


**T0  JB£  WISE,  AND  LOVE»  ETC, 


27$ 


A  moment  décides  the  £rst  question.  He  turns  int  5  the 
«treet  leading  to  Mrs.  Windsor"  s.  Laura  Sheldpn,  her  heart  -v 
.  beating  fast  with  the  excitement  of  the  chase,  toUows.  iHe 
reachés  the  gâte,  opens  it,  enters,.and  dîsappears.  There  can 
no  longer  be  a  doubt— he  has  corne  ta  meet  Reine  LandelU; 
in  response  to  Reine  Landelle's  ïetter. 

She  drawsclose  to  the  gâte,  conceaied  By trees,  and  waits 
in  a  fever  of  excitement  and  exultaf  ion.  What  will  Laurence 
say  to  this  ?  Laurence,  fastidbus,  ridiculousTy  fastidi^as  âbout 
the  reserv^^  and  delicacy  of  3I ung  girls  even  in  trifles.  A  few 
breathless  moments  of  suspense,  and  then  the  house  door 
Opeijs,  and  in  the  lighted  enti-ance  she  sees  distinctly  the  face 
^,of  Reine.  It  qûickly  doses,  the  night  and  darkness  wrap  ]^r  * 
rival — *e  sees  and  jhears  no  more.  '^ 

,  Still  she  lingers.  It  i#  not  likely  he  will  stay  lohg-^Reir^e 
will  not^ermit  berself  to  be  n^issed.  In  this  surmise  she  is 
correct.  Fifteen  minutes  hav/  barely  elapsed,  when,  without 
'  Sound  to;%arn  herof  his  approach,  Léonce  Durand  hastily 
opens  the  gâte,  and  stands  almost  beside  her.  Her  heart 
seerAs  to  stop  beating  for  Anoment— she  cannot  seé  his  face 
distinctly  in  that  obscurity,  and  it  taay  be  her  fancy  that  it 
,  looks  angry  and  lowering.  ,A  second  later  and  he  is  gone,^  * 
and  she  stands  alone  under  the  shadow  6f  the  elms. 


\ 


^ 


Among  the  sheaf  of  l^tters  next  mornipg's  mail  brings  to 

Jie*editor  of  l^e  PAmix  theré  is  one  over  which  he  knits  hîs 

.  brows,  and  scowls  in  a  manner  so  savage,  that  Mr.  O'Sulli- 

van,  who  chances  to  be  in  the  sanctum  at  the  moment,  pauses 

in  his  work  to  stare.    .        .  ^  ^  /     \. 

"  Up«in  me  word,  chiçT,  thaf  s  ji  migh^  ptetty  expressions^ 
havc  your  photôgraph  taken  «.      Vyhat  has  o)ir  esteemetS 
^'^gspondent  said JoAraw  ye  iiito  su<ih  a  tcaring  pagstotr^ 


..'  i  ' 


J»' 


y 


^  <6. 


It's  pot  a  billet-doux  ye  ha\re,  Tra  thinkingi" 
*'  ÎA>Qk  at  that  writing,  O— did  yôu  evèr  sec  it  bcfore  ?  " 


t 


•  ,,"  ■     «... ,  ■  ^^^:.  -'^ 


/  '  '1. 


if    '  ■  i     ■  /:  ^''    '  " 

K;..-.i5#      -J'ai,.  ■>,,,.-... 


•:*»*'  '^"'* 


J^r6 


l' 


BE   IVISE,  AND  LOVE'*  ETC. 


Hs  ifeigs  hit 


,.•3" 


the  envelope,  an  ordinary  hv&  one,  and 
''Sutllivan  inspeclt^  it  gtavely.  .  » 

l never  Want  to  again.     'A  d— ^  crabbed 

pièce  ofpenmanship,'  as  Uncle  Toby  has  it,  as  ever  I  look- 

ed  ât" 

"  Ssems  like  a  feigned  hanct  does  it  not  ?  '* 

«Well— thaf  s  as  may  be.     A  woman  t|ying  a  man's  fist 

niight  execu»  such  chirÔgr^phy.    Nothing  uff§easant  I  hope, 

chief?"  "  V 

"An  anonymous  letter— nothing  ihore." 
But  the  scowl  still  lingers  on  Longworth's  visage,  as  he 
crumples  the  epistle  into  a  bail,  thrusts  it  into  his  pocket, 
and  begins  writing  with  a  ferocious  rapidity.  He  writes  until 
O'Sullivan  has  left  the  room,  then  throws  down  the  pen, 
^akes  out  tbe  crumpled  letter,  smooths  it,  and  frowning 
jarkly,  glances  vindiçtîvely  over  it  once  more. 

"A  Sincère  Friend  wishes  to  offer  Mr.  Longworth  a  word 
of  advice.  The  inclosed  scrap  of  writing  came  -into  his 
possession  by  accident,  and  through  the  carelessness  of  M. 
Léonce  Durand,  whose  property  it  is.  The  initiais  at  the 
end  are  not  to  be  mistaken.  Last  night  the  assignation  made 
in  this  torn  lettef  was  kept  in  the  grounds  of  the  Stone  House. 
Monsieur  Léonce  Durand  and  Mademoiselle  Reine  Landelle 
met  there  at  nine  o'clock.  A  Sincère  Friend  wishes  Mr. 
I  ongworth  would  discover  what  the  exact  relation  of  this 
vc/y  handsome  young  man  is  to  Mlle.  R.  Landelle— why  he 
is  hère— why  tbey  meet  by  night  and  by  stealth— before  he 
makes  her  his  wife." 

Inclosed  is  the  tum  corner  of  the  French  letter  signed 
«R.  L." 

^All  honorable  men  and  women,  as  a  matter  of  course, 
dtïspise  anonymous  letterâ,  and  yet  do  those  poisoned  stihft. 
toes  ever  quite  miss  their  mark  ?     Longworth  crushes  this  in 


»  âiuy  aisa  flings  itirom  him,  onlytôpick  it"upfor  the  second" 
tinne,  and  regard  it  with  loathing.     Was  this  accusation  truc  ? 


,  "^W  ^ 


v*S^- 


.1^^~     « 


/ 
/ 
/. 

/    ^ 


*'T0  BE   l^ISE,   AI^D  LOVE,''  ETC. 


•+' 


v"*®*- 


^; 


y-.      » 


did  Reinç  indeed  meet  by  night  and  by  stealth  thisstep-son,  ôK 
•  her  aunt  î*  AYell,  and  if  she  did— was  it  after  ail  so  unnatural  ? 
He  was  her  ftiend— lier  brother,  as  Marie  had  said  ;  she  had 
knownhim  ail  her"life.  Mrs.' Windsor  had  absolutely  for- 
bidden  Ijlim  the  house— how  then  were  thëy  to  meet  except  bf 
stealth  ?  >Andyet  the  thought  that  they  met'at  kll  stung  him 
iike  a  whip.  She  was  watchèd,  suspected,  taUced  of,  this  • 
girLhe  toeant  to  marry— there  was  something  horribly  revoU- 
ing  in  the  idea.  Innocence,  purity  itself,  she  migh.t^e— was, 
,  he  knew— and  yet  pne  suth  letter,  one  such  nialigner  as  this, 
was  enough  to  àpot  the  fairest  réputation.     "  Be  you  pure 

as  ice,  chaste  as  snow,  you  shall  not  esc^pe  caluniny  " per- 

haps  not  ;  but  if  the  calumnyXhave  the  shadQw  of  truth  tô 
build  upon,  how  then?    What\if  this  vile,  nameless  thing 
spok-  truth?     what  if  Reine  met  Dui^nd?    what  if  she' 
were  m  ttie  habit  of  meeting  him  ?         ' 

Ail  Ihat  day  editors,  reporters,  compositors,  the  very  prin. 
ter's  devil,  notice  that  the  chief  is  in  a  w^ite  and  silent  fagç . 
Every  article  he  dashes  off  is  steeped  in  the  very  gall  of  blt- 
teraess.     On.  the  editorial  page  goes  in  a  brief,  bitt<frly  scath/ 
ing  article  headed  «  Anonymous  Letters,"  in  which  every  epi-  " 
thet  almost  in  the  English  language  is  hurled  at  the  heads  of 
the  perpetrators  of  that  atrocity.     But  he  keeps  his  cl>air  un- 
til  his  usual  hour  for  departure,  and  O'Sullivan,  glancing  up 
as  he  passes,  observes  that  a  look  of  dogged  resolution  has 
'  replaced  the  fiercely-repressed,  silent  fury  of  the  morning. 
"Upon  my  honorand  conscience,  I  hope  no  more  anony- 
mous epistles  will  reach  ye,  for  it's  a  fine  savage  temper  ye've      / 
bee^  in  ail.  day.     Surely  it  wasn't  anything  about  the  little      ( 
mafl-mo-ielj  and  yet  that's  the  only  thing  that  could  upset      ' 
hnn  to  sixch  adegree.    Something  about  her  and  the  good- 
logjping  little  Frenchman,  V\\  wager  a  button.'    If  I  only  had 
thg  cut-throat  that  wrofe  it  for  fee 


him  1     Uevil  apother  anonymous  letter  he'd  write  ttis  month 
of  Sundayf."     -  j   ,  ^  '^ 


%i 


\:*''f 


T'>-. 


278 


f—r 


TO  BE  tVISE,  AND  L^VE,»  ETC. 


T- 


Mr.  LongWôrth  goes  home,  dines. 


still 


Uen    but  wuh  ail  incKcatiops'^f  a^^eT^ont' H^^ane^ 
keenly  across  at  Durai     That  élégant  and^,  y^uL Tr 
^^  eigner  .s  m  h.gh  featheV,  as  usual,  and  is  fliring  with  M^ 

He  ,r    r'Vf'^'^"^"'^  Httlematron's  heaffs  conten" 
He  has  frankly  corroborated  Miss  I^ndelle's  statement- 
yes,  he  is  an  operatic  singer,  has  been  for  years,  but  his  en- 
gagement^eoes  not  begfn  before  October,  and  meantime  he 
has  run  dawn  hère  to  see  their  ch^rrhirig  town,  and  pay  a 
VISU  to  lus  stilI  more  cl^ming  friends,  the  Demoiselles  lin- 
,   •  aelle.     True,  the  impérial  grandmamma  does  not  like  him. 
he  regrets  to  say  ;  she  disHkes  Frenchmen,  probaWy,  M.  Du. 
rand  gayly  infers,  on  the  principle  of  the^  burnt  cfiild  who 
dreads  fire.     It  gneves  him,  but  what  wouliiyou  ?  he  strive* 
to  Survive  it     He  hkes  Baymouth  ;  the  fishing  is  excellent. 
■    Madame  LongwortWshouse^fàn«l3^  au  that  there  is  of 
he  most  charmmg  (a  smil^and  bow  Slîat  comprises  aM  the 
lad.es)  ;  he  sees  no  reason  why  he  should  not  linger  in  thèse 
pleasant  pastures  until  the  ides  of  Obtober  arrive 

1  "^^'T\r'''^'''^"^^'''^"^^^^'"^better  place  to 
loaf  away  the  blazing  days  /ouldn'l  be  found.  Sea-hreezes.  ' 
nice  irout  streams,  pa'tridges  later  on,  comfortaWéfer^ly  ^ 
as  you  say,  munseer,  airy  house,  pretty  girls,  Frençh  and  Yan*- 
kee,  married,  widowed,  and  single,"  adds  Mr.  Bèàwith  with 
an  unctuoua  chuckle.  ."What  say,  Franky,  my  boyplyou 
ain  t  looking  well,  I  think.     Capital  succotash,  Mrs.  LoV«.' 

worth  ;  may  I  trouble  you  for  a  second  help  P  " 

So  Durand  means  to  stay  until  the  close  of  September 

five  more  weeks.     Mrs.  Beckwith  looks  radiant,  Mrs.  Shel! 

don  casts  a.  quîck  gknce  a^  Longworth,  but  L<Higworth', 

^ask  is  on,  a^d  he  is  absorbed  in  his  dinner.     Frank  Dexter 
>rkly  scowls,  and  poniards  a  French  roU,  as  if  it  w^ere  M 

Durand  he  has  iinpaled  on  his  fork.      He  is  jg^ous  of  Du- 
-yiOr  "»"-"  ■'— ' -'--    • — • ■ — 


^       "oje  joaloui  thau  lie  Im  eveg  been  ot  Loh^br ^>  al. 
though  that  fact  is  not  in  it^elf  remarfcaUe,  Mr.  lîbRlcr  bimg 


i 


n. 


!'(       • 

1 

^ 

1             V 

^ 

<* 

l 

>■  ■ 

t- 

,  i^.Hlï^' 


■""  "^  .'^j';**fr1;''-*  -  j"*!'^»  ti^'ï^^- 


r-.. 


i 

i 


n 


.^' 


/ 


'*ro  BE  ivisEt  AND  love;'  etc. 


279 


jealous  tx3  a  perfectly  frightful  degree,  ojf  every  man  upon 
whom  the  light  of  Marie  Landellç's  golden  eyes  chances  to 
fall.  He  certainly  seems  to  hâve  very  Uttle  cause  in  the 
présent  instance,  but  jealous  stouls  make  their  owh  causes. 
Shc  has  known  Durand  long  ago— who  is  to  tell  how  ii 
iuately, — and  though  she  avoids  him  now  with  a  ciarkèd 
àvoidance,  that  is  in  itself  suspicious,  though  her  coidness  of 
manner  is  more  than  Arctic  when  she  chances  to  meet  him, 
that  only  roots  the  distrust  of  this  moo<^y,  misérable  young 
Bluebéard  still  more.  Ând  now  the  fellow  is  going  to  remain 
five  whdle  weeks  longer. 

ivfonsiei^r  Durand's  pleasant  and  polite  little  Bpeec)i  ihrows 
ii^èttled  gloom  over  Mr.  Dexter  for  the  Temainder  of  the  meal. 
He  quits  the  house  the  instant  it  is  over,  and  a  few  i^iiinutes 
later  Longworth  goes  down  the  piazza  steps  in  his  tùrn  and 
takes  the  'same  direction.  Durand  stands  on  the  s|toop,  a 
curious,  and  not  altogether  pleasant  smile  ôr^  his  d'ark  face,  ; 
as  he  watches  the  twj^^ut  of  sight.  ,    , 

"The  same  lo^dstâr^raws-both,"  says  the  voiceiof  Mr%. 
Sheldon  beside  him,  "  the  Stone  House.  MjT cousin  Lail- 
rence's  is  quite  an  old  àffair  by  this  time,  as  no  doubt  yoU. 
know.  Mr.  Déxter's  (|oes  riot  appear  as  yet'to  be  settl^sd,  j* 
but  a  young  man  with  a  fortune^  princely  need  hardly/'fear 
a  rejectibn  when  he  makes  up  his  mind  to  speak,"      '' ,  \ 

M.  Durand  has  removed  his  çigar  ou^  of  déférence  to  the 
lady — now  he  looks  at  her  with  a,  smile  still  on  his  handsome  , 

"Ah  !  "  he  says  airi^,  "so  Mr  Longworth*s  affair  is  qiiite 
settled  ?  Yes,  as  you  say,  La  Petite  told-  n»e  fronrt  the  first. 
Happy  Monsieur  Longworth  j  And  M.  D€!:tter's  is  not  quite 
— do  I  under^tand  you  to^y,  madame,  that  he  is  very 
rich?"         ' 


^xj 


"A  prince^ 


e.. 


roàny  millions. 
"Vagujé,  but 


* 


!m 


lui  1    MiUions  !    Hôw  exquisite  tht 


V, 


--ai 


.-  .  :4  -^ 


'!• 


280 


'*T0  bÀ  mSE,  AND  love:'  ETCi 


How  fortunatë-  aïMny  fair   coui. 


/ 


Sound  of  that  wor^  1 
ins  i" 

;;  Monsieur  D„ra",4  .hey  are  no.  yqur  cousin." 
.    No  ?    But  >t  ,s  al  the  same,  is  it  not  ?    We  are  „f  „„- 

rLt^n^rit--;^-^^^^^^^^ 

njatch  eve^fo.  «^I  wrnt.l t  J^  AhT'.H «It"' 
ble  Madame  Windsor  I  who  shuu  her  doors  in  „y  fit  H" 
I  were  an  anib  t  ous  lover  insf^»H  „f  .  ' '"  "J"*".  "  «  , 
al.oge.her  harmless,  A^^^-^TL^JT^'^  ""™' 
daugh.ers  under  .he  vlry  noser  !f  1  °  u  "  «''^''• 

ones."  ■'  ;         T'^       ~  ""^  messieurs,  the  favored 

fees'2'„'r"^1l'''  !?f  "°*-  '""«-"«'^  «  "is  cigar.     He 
|»esamos.asàead,I,^asL„„g^„hhi™self. 

Don  .  n„„d  me,  monsieur  ;  staoke  if  you  wish  .o     And 

_fould  Surprise  Baymouth  verv  irrf.il„      r.  i       """""'* 

ing  s.ill  a  feHeew"       1  /'"'  "^  '"'"''°"  "' «-'"-^ 
"Yes,  I  .hink  Frank  is  jeLlous  •  but  Fr,„t  ,.       .^ 

iealous  of  evety  one  who  so  Ch  '      ,    T        '  ■""  '"^'  '' 

Sheiswonderfuny  "etTrMneîTandeM         '  ''  "^  '""""^• 
you  ever  sa*,  is  she  no!î?^  '  '  *'  P-«ies.  «„,a„ 


aontt,  ^  a  I  wanted  such  an  answer.    AU  fte  same,  I  k„ow 


-4- 


T*'^  „ 


TO  B§   WISE,   AND  LOVE»  EtC. 


281 


î  of  one"^ 
e.  Marie 

brilliant    - 
lat  terri- 
ce,  as  if 

cousin,  > 
rgrand- 
favored 


> 


there  is  no  one  m  Baymouth  half  so  handsome.  But  it  is 
not  MJM  Landelle  they  say  who  is  your  friend,  in  §pite  of  her 
beauty.'*» 

Once  more  Durai^Pughs,  thoroughly  and  uhaffectedly 
amused.  Does  this  ràtherjaded  young  widow  expect  him  to 
commit  himself  to  hef,  to  satisfy  her  cuxiosity,  to  own  hitn- 
self  the  lover  of  Reine?  Before  he  can  reply,  Mrs.  Beck- 
with  has  fluttered  to  his  side,  and  claims  his  prom'>sfr  to  teach 
her  an  Italian  song,  and  so  makes  an  end  of  the  conversa- 
tion.   ■ 

Mr.  Dexter  calls  at  the  Stone  House,  and  find».  /^lle.  Marie 
reading  in  the  garden,     Mr.  Longworth,  upor  \\m  arrivai  a 
few  minutes  later,  flnds  that  Mlle.  Reine  is  not  at  nome  ;  she 
is  somewhere  in  the  grounds,  or  down  on  the  saîids,  her  sjs- 
ter  thinks.     Mr.  Longworth  goes  in  search  of  her,  and  pre» 
ently;  afar  off  on  the  sandy  shore  he  catches  a  glrmpse  of  a    " 
gray  robe,  a  fluttering  blue  ribbon,  and  a  slight  solitary  figure 
seated  on  a  rock.     He  vaults  over  the  low  wall,  and  turns  in 
the  direction  at  once.     The  suminer  evening  is  at  itWoveli- 
/est— bright,  windless,  mellow  with  the  sweet  scent  of  the  sea 
on  the  ètill  air,  a  few  pearly  stars  ah-eady  ashirie,  altheugh 
the  pale  pink  ^  primrose  of  the  sunset  hâve  not  quite  faded 
outof  the  pale  fieecy  sky.     Hushed  and  tranquil  the  bay    ' 
>lies,  the  littlé  waves  whispering  and  murmuring  up  on  the     ', 
shore,  a  gold  gray  haze  lying  over  the  distant  towns.     Reinç?     ? 
sits,  a  book  in  her  lap,  but  not  reading,  the  dark  eyes  with  ^ 
the  far-oflF  distant  light  in  them,  her  lover  bas  learned  to    ' 
know,  fixed  on  the  silent  shining  water,  as  if  away  beyond 
the  roly  horizon  yonder  they  looked  once  more  for 

——  "  thy  com-fîelds  green,  and  sunny  vines, 
Oh  !  pleasant  land  of  France."  , 


^AaiïigfgQtistepl appi-oâch  jfiFglànices  ùp, 


v>î' 


look  of  welcome,  Lon 
seen,  cornes  into  her  IjC 


arth  of  late  has  more  than  once 
is  it  is  only  that  she  is 


'*;îft;*i'ffrawjVf*^ 


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283 


"TO  BS  msB,  AtTD  LOVE,"  irc. 


weaor  of  solitude,  and  is  gUd  of  the  i„te,Tuption      Th«. 

"ue'rrr:? 'h  ''"""^  """  ^^-'-'» -^»  „^n 

look  ap  *th'  1    V-        "'  '"""'-  ""'"  ^'■='*"<»'^  how  .0 
r,  Tk       u  *"'"  '=<>1"«'i*  and  alluring  grâce  in  the 

,  lor  just  one  second,  then  tlie  lids  droop  over  the  .1,*  . 
and  she  sit,  «aiting  for  hin,  ,„  address  her  "     '"^ 

and  he™  'Tu"  *"  ""''7  ''""  '^'""-  Mademoiselle  Reine,  ; 
and  her.     It  «  a  qmet  place;  we  cân  talk  without  fear  0/ 

yo^r-three^aâ;:^;"^  '°"  "'""'  ""='"    '  '"^  -'  -» 

"  I  am  quite  well,  monsieur." 

'Mr.4-i2;r;;r  ri-if  :;s„ 

nothmg  agreeable,  that  she  feels.     There  is  no  lo  "e"  look 

her  m  the  fair  evening  light,  looking  remarkablv  stern  T„H 
resolute  and  inflexible  indeed  for  a  wooer  *^  '       ^ 

is  n'„*^!u!'"  "!.'  "^^"•"«''''"8  qmckiy.  "n,y  errand  to  nigh. 

cr:™f,:„';.""  *"  '^"""-  ""  ""™^"«""  '«■«.  «-d  i. 

r  An  anonymous  letter  and  concerning  me  ?  » 

hirdlv  ev« ion.  ?      .       .^M^"^''^  msidkm  poison  It^" 
nardly  cvcr.  fiul,  to  plant  ^tt^ng.     I  could  not  dVstroy  it 


4i^i^.^inl"  '*'      •*'*'        *^-  ^     *é«      "**     ^ 


!i»*f        jRii7" 


n.  There 
n  seems  a 
rs  how  to 
ice  in  the 
s  brightly. 
^rk  eyes, 

Ile  Reine, .' 
t  fear  of 
»ot  often 
not  seen 


5  well  as 
:ing.v 
esires  to 
mentary 
^  down- 

parasol 
say  it  is 
r's  loolf 

beside 
'n,  and 

o  night 

hirked. 

and  it 

gaftei 


places 
itterly 


fTO  BH   WISE,  AtfD  LOVE»   ETC. 


283 


without  Consulting  you  ;  the  memory  of  what  it  says  would 
rankle  in  spite  of  me.  Read  it— I  ask  only  one  word  of  dé- 
niai and  I  pledge»  myself  never  even  to  think  of  it  again." 

Her  face  has  paled  slightly,  but  she  opens  it  with  a  steady 
hand,  and  reads  both  letter  and  inclosure  without  tremor  or 
pause.  Thenjhfr  calmly  refolds  thena  and  hands  both  back 
uitfioutu^word.  * 

"Welll"  he  exciaims  impatiently,  «hâve  you  nothing  to 
say — nothing  to  deny  ?  "  •     .  " 

«  I  hâve  vçry  little  to  say—nothing  to  deny.  What  your 
Sincère  Friend  tells  yow  is  qtiite  true." 

"  Quite  true  !  You  met  Monsieur  Durand  then,  last  night, 
ft  nine  in.thegrounds?"  ^ 

'':  .««ïdid." 

"  This  tom  scrap  of  writing  is  from  you  to  him  ?' 
"  Undoubtedly."  -, 

There  is  a  pause.  He  crumples  the  snake  in  his  hand  into 
a  ballj  and  flings  it  out  into  the  sea. 

"  Reine,"  he  says  abruptly,  and  in  a  voice  of  whose  harsh- 
ness  he  is  not  aware,  ««this  must  end.  One  of  two  thin^' 
must  happen— our  engagement  must  cease,  or  this  intinl4y 
with  Durand  must  be  broken  off.  It  may  be  perfectly  inno- 
cent— of  you  I  hâve  no  doubt— but  people  are  beginning  to 
talk,  and  the  amount  of  the  matter  is  it  won't  do.  My  future 
wife  must  be  the  subject  of  no  anonyraous  letters,  must  meet 
no  ^nan  in  dqirkness  and  in  secret." 

,  «How  then  am  I  to  meet  him?"  she  demands,  wilh  a 
proud  calmness  that  surprises  him,  but  a  dangerous  light 
kmdhng  in  het  eyes.  «He  is  my  friend-I  care  for  him 
more  than  perhaps  you  would  wish  to  hear  ;  Madame  Win* 
sor  has.  forbidden  him  her  house.  What  would  monsieur 
bave  me  do  ?  " 


*«  Abide  by^  your  grandmotlwr's  décision.     Anything  ^ 


ison  it 
troyit 


better  than  being  spied  upon  and  talked  of  Uke  this." 
"But,  my  grandmother's  deciaion  is  most  unjust. 


She 


\^^*:^^.^^. 


^"^i^Â 


284 


*•">  ♦•■ 


"  TO  BE   mSE,  AND  LOVE."  ETC. 


knows  nothing  to  the  discrédit  of  M  DurA„H      r,       • 
•  seera  «.!,«  ,he  act  of  a  craven  »„H  '        ?         •   °"  "  ""^ 
"P  an  old  and  veiy  dear  S  ^.       Tf  """''  "  «''' 
tj^annical  relationT"  '         """■''  '""^  *  "'=''  «"J 

n>zti„r.orarBottX"  '"'  -^'^  "-^ 
''ô;?;„^do:i!;;tn,r™L\cr%""^^^^^^ 

J««>/i  Z>i>»  /  I  k„„„  ,•;       ,,       ,     "'*'■     '  »">  her  slave— 

n.an.l.     An,  I  altoTbl  v7  '  *°'"''  ""'^  '«'^  ~- 

u  ta  .  "^  °®  y°""»  monsieur? " 

of  a  censo'riL  >^:Z;^  T-    '"^■"  *'  «-'" 
"Vour    promised  wife,"   she   ,epea,s,   s.i,,   „i,h    „„3. 


Word,  in  l,urn  l„e"T„  wrir  uV""  *'"'' "^  »«■=. 
«hese  did  ?  Rei„e7;ra  are  bntT  t m''  ''™^''  "'""'  " 
ignorance  of  innoc^n^yr  .htl  you  1'"k''"^-;"  "" 
the  world.     I  tell  von    L  r  ."    * /°"  <»"  ^rave  and  defy 

«thont  pity  or  J^eC^  Le  l^K  '"■*""•  '"•■>'"«^<'» 
yo«  hâve'  iîven  „e^he  t^lTo  t  Tetf"  """  "'  "" 
Windsor  and  appeal  to  her  .„  ^u,d«;  Z'°  ■°  *"^ 
against  your  friend.     I  think  I  ha«  i„T  '"J"""'»" 


^cnes  Réine,  passionateljr-^u  not  for  a 


'« 

/    - 


Does  it  noi 
rit,  to  give 
a  rich  and 

ôn's  roo^ 

îrnly  just, 

mdertone. 
:r  slave — 
ery  cora- 

■  because 
he  gossip 


**rO  BE   fV/SE,   AND  LOVE,"*  ETC. 


285 


tfora 


thousand  worldi  I  What  !  after  ail  her  insults  to  the  meniory 
of  my  dear  dead  father,  her  taunts  of  our  poverty  and  de- 
peadence,  which  she  makes  us  feel  every  hour  of  our  lives, 
I  send  you  to  plead  with  with  her  for  Léon1:e  !  Oh  !  I 
hâve  indeed  fallen  low  when  I  sit  and  listen  eveu  to  such  a 
proposai!"  '  , 

"  I  meant  it  in  good  faith.     Do  you  then  prefer  stealing 
eut  to  meet  him  after  dark  in  the  grounds  ?     Do  you  inteud 
to  persist  in  doing  so  ?  " 
'*  And  what  if  I  do?" 

"  The  what  is  very  simple.  I  resign,  at  once,  and  forever, 
ahy  slight'  çlaim  I  at  présent  possess  to  influence  you^ 
actions,  ahd  leave  you  altogether  free  to  meet  M.  Léonce 
Durand /When,  and  where^and  how  you  please.  Only,  for 
your  ow^  sake,  mademoiselle,  let  the  trysting-hour  be  broad 
day,  thé  trysting-place  wheje  ail  the  world  may  see." 

/looks  up  at  him,  deadly  pale,  and  rises  to  her  feet. 
fonsieur,"  she  says,  '"  I  will^nevei  forgive  you  this  last 
insuït  to  the  day  of  my  death."   'i 

'  There  âr|^^  many  things  yo^  refuse  to  forgive^me,  Made- 
m^dselle  keinfe,"  he  answers  ;  "  one  added  can  hardly  signify. 
Ahd  I  hâve  no  intention  of.offering  you  msult— nOthing  is 
f^rther  from  my  thoughts.  If  I  did  not  care  for  you  in  a  way 
ind  to  an  extent  that  makes  me  dtespise  myself,  do  you 
ythink  I  would  stand  hère  warning  y»u  ?  Heine,"  he  cries, 
fiercely,  "  cannot  you  see  that  I  love  you— love  you  so  well 
that  it  maddens  me  to  doubt  you  ?" 

"Oh  !  indeed,  do  you  love  me  ?  "  she  says,  with  wonder- 
ing  sçor»,  still  pale  to  lividness,  and  with  quivering  lips. 
"  You  piard  your  secret  well.  I  could  never  hâve  guessed 
it.  Will  you  pardon  me  if,  eVen  after  your  tender  déclara- 
tion, I  still  doubt  the  fact  ?  " 

.jj^JLlggLÎ^  ^^^^*"g^I  Pa-H  and  thpre  jg  cgrtajply  very  little 

of  lovei'i  look  or"tone\about  him.     And  yet  in  his  voice 
àt«re  is  passionate  pain,  passionate  longing,  passionate  r» 


»^**._^U  JV't'i*  J 


r 


286 


"'^''"^^^^.^^rz,zoys^^rc 


P"<  and  in  his  verv  inf     • 
'■"Pa^deepeatdep.hsofiÔle'"'  "'^"S"»"  l>ittem«a.  p„ 

tell  you  if  Mra.  Windsor  1«  *'"«'""'  ""at  right     ? 

Whu  "does  givioff  „„  n,.      I     '^     '"""''  ?  " 

«Jon'e  prevari  Jr  Z  77^^""  "'"'  ""■''P'"'"  e„o„gh-  ^ 
wonhy„f,„„,,J^^Y-acrea,«re.     For  he  ifu„. 

looks  eamesely  i«o  h„    ""'.  '',:*^'    "=  'akes  her  hands  and 
meintun,?"  »  doub,  you.    Will  you  not  trust 

fa..e:;:rte%r«r  '-'""  '-■     «-^  --"e,  shHnks. 
"  I  can— r  do~r  ai         u 

-'«■«.  Oh,  ^.;^r/n''f  "^*'°^-'^'-  "■•'.•« 

.»  "ot,  and  „.y  ,ip,„,  sealid  Y^r  '"'"'''"  ""''"  "-"'  '' 
o  not  at  au.  j  „fl,  ^e  the  Lt  I  K,  ""  "^^  '»=  "'■"'IfoW 
be^l.se.ce  if  yo^ie,  ^^  g„..     '  •"  "''""■=  ^°"-    K  will  „,„, 

Pointroent.»  ,  *  * '"«k  "f  keenest  di«^ 


_:_!lYjaii  wm  aot  trnstTgë?^ 


x 


;»  ^<  '    .».»,.  ."_    ■'■gjj      "^J^" 


..««:     4 


**T0  BÈ   WISE,  AND  LOVB,^  ETC.  28/ 

"Icannot" 

"  WiH  yc^eU  me  thi,  at  least-was  he  ever  your  lover  ?  » 
Shehesitatèsandhalfavertsherface.  " 

"He  was   bîTt  a  b.y.    He  was   not  old  enough   to  be 
i^nj  one's  lover "  j.  *"ugti    to   oe 

"  Shll  he  was— you  do  not  deny  it  " 

"  Answer  me  this  at  least:  what  brings  him  hère  ?  » 

I  cannot.  " 
"  Not  even  this  ?" 

*'  Not  even  this.     My  promise  is  given." 
"  A  promise  to  Durand  ?  " 

i;^^;S::^.<^"°'-''-^^^-.eu. 

"  Will  the  day  ever  corne  whéi^u  can  ?  " 
"Yes,"  she  answers,  with  a  weaty  sig^  "I  thi„t  „    , 
hope  so.  bu.  I  do  „„,  k„„w.     Oh  I  monsieur,  let  u   e„d  iis 
-I  foresee  nothmg  but  trouble  wiU  corne  of  ii     My  conduit 

you  cannot     Let  us  make  an  end.     It  is  not  yet  too  late 

doubt'and"r'  '""""'  ■"  ""0°™'  "O  '  ^  >^4  of 
doubts  and  quarrels.     I  „ill  gi,e  you  back  your  rin^and 

your  free<l„,„,  and  then  thèse  secrets  and  hidden  troubifs  ôf 

n..ne  need  disturb  you'  no  more.    Monsieur  Lo^J^rth  f. 

z  "h.:;.  "''"  ""•"  -*"  "'  "^  ''  ^-  ^  -- !^''«" 

"I  begin  to  think  so,"  he  answers,  bitteriy,  "sirice  this  i. 
o^goon  .ndeiinitely.     I  had  hoped-but  what  doetitl 

ter  nojr.    If  you  had  cared  for  me »  o 

.     He  «^»  gith  »a  impatient  gctuie,  and  move/J»ar».riV 
«ep^    Tb«  h.  cornes  agai»  and  standTbeS^T^ 
Yo»  m  me  th«  night,"  he  «y,,  with  m  im^ètwai»  ^ 


■■'y 


1»   jî:  3  'i 


,     / 

/ 


i-.7 


"TO  As  HràB.  '»Mm£yE;<  ETC. 

sionate  man.  is  unlrlpA/^iio  Jki       -    •    ,  ^  •uwvcu,  pas* 

knows  '.  r.\     ""'Î7^*^  Pftlegm^ic  Longworth  Baymouth 

-wo,    she  slowly  alnswei^,  '«  you  hâve  nnt      t        u. 

be«enf  ,„„  ^\.^,:^:f ittVr- » -W  Hâve  ■«.„ 
'     ^l  i"^^  on  without  heeding  her  last  words  : 

S,         r  '^'""^'°''?  fr<"»  you.  but  will  you  admit  aiso 

1  thmk— it  may  be  possible." 

"I^o  one  else  bas  any  claiin  on  you  ?" 
"  No  one  in  ail  the  world." 

™ight  be™..  collect'ed^nd  oo^î^Js^^ f «"^^SL^  ... 
lus  gone  oat  to  yo„,  and  I  cannot  reéall  it  if  1 ZX    Tiff 

:n-b:îrcira::errj.r^-^^^^^^^ 


^ 


V'; 


>■• 


H  • 


*Tff£  RIVALS:' 


Ai*'» 


289 


You  can  ask  those  who  hâve  bound  you  to  fiée  you. 
Surely  j^u  must  see  that  this  is  right.  You  hâve  proven 
sufficiently  how  thoroughly  you  can  be  sUent  and  true.  Prove 
to  your  phghted  hu^ba^d  in  turn^how  thoroughly  you  can 
confide  m  and  trust  hini."  /  /  u  «-an 

He  stoops  and  touches  her  cheek  with  his  lips  ;  then,  be 
fore  she  can  speak  or  look  up,  is  gone.  The  slight  caress 
ZaTI  wt'  '  r°"  ^°^'  of  tenderness  ;  L  stands 
cvi^Z'  ^^"'  °'  *t-pain,  regret,  yearnin^^in  her 
cyes,  and  somethmg  stronger  and  deeper  than  either  beneath. 
Then  she  sits  down,  white  and  ^jnnerved,  and  looks  blankly 

>  nl^h^f  n''r«  ;  f  ^-<»"kening  s^a,  and  so  when  the  summef 
night  lalls  it  finds  her. 


*«► 


tjL 


CHAPTEH  XXI. 

"THE     RIVA  LS." 

|RANK,"   says    Miss   Hariott,   «answer    me    this- 

Did  you  or  did  you  not,  teU  me  on  board  th? 

Hespena,  that  you  we^.<>nly  gôîng  To  make  a 

fly^g  visU  to  Baymouth,  for  àe^e  „urpose  of  building  a 

^t.  and  were  then  going.virtuously  and  dutifully  home  to 

Oeorgia  to  see  your  raother  and  unclp  ?    Did  you,  I  say  or 

did  you  not?"       ^^^.  j(  «,  *  »ay,  or 

There  is  seyerity  in  Miss  Hariotf  s  tone.  dignified  reproof 
yi  Miss  Hanbtf  8  eye.  We  say  "eye"  emphatically,  for 
while  she  keeps  one  upon  the  culprit.  the  other  is  fixed  in 

through  which  she  is  daintly  picking  her  way.    The  after- 
'^  '^<ielightful,  breezy  crisp,  clear,  but  Jmoming^ 


i.h"^*Vw'  Z  ^  ^^"  not?"  catafgoricaUy  repêats  the 
lady,anëMr.X)exterlaughs,lazay.  /     i'         «e 

13  I 


:.u  s 


n 


\ 


•  ■^-'   l'ii. 


iT 


290 


V 


**THE  RIVALS.** 


"  On  bo^J  the  Hcsperia  was  three  whole  months  ago. 
How  is  a  fellow  to  carry  his  mind  back  over  8ucl|^^  period 
as  that?  I  remember  well  enough  your  saymg^nçed  1 
mention  that  every  saying  of  yours  is  indelibly  impnnted  on 
this  heart)-|hat  you  preferred  Baymouth  to  Venice.  If  I 
prefer  it  to  Georgia  in  August,  who  is  to  blâme  me  ?  Not 
you,  Miss  Hariott;  so  smooth  away  that  frown,  and  smUe 
once  more  on  the  most  abject  of  your  adorers.» 

Miss  Marie  Landelle,  sauntering  by  Frank's  side,  her  pmk^ 
lined  parasol  casting  a  faint  roseate  glow  over  her  pearl  faj 
face,  laughs  faintly.     Thèse  two  are  in  front;  behmd  co.;^e 
Mr.  Longworth  and  Reine;    Miss  Hâriott,  m,  the  WeV 
skips  over  the  puddies  unsupported,  suffic^nt  unto  Wself. 
The  whole  party  are  bound  for  the  Baymoufl^roquet  g^und. 
being  members,  one  and  ail,  of  the  Baymout^roque/  Club^ 
"This  is  ail  very  fine,"  says  Miss  >Hanott  Vith  ipcreased 
severity  ;  "but  as  you  hâve  survived  the  de/>rg.an  heats  for 
the  past  seventeen  or  eighteen  years,.4Dn^t  you  thmk  the 
delicacyMyour  constitution  might  survive  them  once  n,ore  ? 
Last  ni^t  I  received  a  letter  from  your  respected  maternai 
p'arent,lnaking  four  anxious  epistks  in  ail,  implonng  ane  in 
^afcçtic^languagetoinform  her  truly,  and  at  once  wha     t 
is  thàt  holds  you  spell-bound  in  this  duU  town.    ^^^^^^^rl 
young  sir,  I  shall  answer  before  I  sleep.    Frank,  I  conjure 
youi    What  am  I  to  say  to  your  mother  ?» 

A  flush  rises  over  Frank's  sun-brown  cheek-he  casts  a 
quick  glance  at  his  comp^nion,  but  that  lovely,  serene  face 
Lks  calm  and  more  unconscious  than  the  summer  sky,  the 
w'nderful,  yellow  brown  eyes  gaze  straight  before  mto  space 
and  are  as  nearlyexpressionless  as  beaut.ful  eyes  can  be 
The  young  man  sighs  impatiently,  and  switches  the  head 
off  wayside  daisie,  and  dandelions  with  a  q"-^' ^f^^^ 
—5^  -E^ryday^  iHSt  state  of  ntbia  young  J^eorg^ 
^ows  worse  tîL  the  first,  every  day  he  becomes  .  ^at« 
coward,  VI  the  very  intensity  of  his  passion.     Eveiy  day  te 


Mtil-  -^ 


n,  and  smilc 


Ming  Oeorgian 


"4- 


"  THU  RIVALS» 


~^ 


291 


grows  more  afraid  to  sn«>air     fi,-  .,         .  • 

o  «uiaiu  10  speaic — the  présent  is  paradisiaral  «k- 

speaks,  and  the  dread  flat  is  No,  he«will  be  exi^H  ;        k  ^^ 

What  shall  I  «y  .0  M?*^"J|"  "°  'P'"*^ 

Pena?    Can  mortel  njan  promise  inoré  ?  » 
« rr^'^r*  "^^^  ^"^  ""'"  *^  ^^^'^^  »*  launched  ?-  - 

buSgTya^htV***^  *"*^  "^°'"^'^*'   ^No  e«<i  of  a  borT 


^7 


building  a  yachU'" 
"  Veor  ,^eIV'  s^ys  Miss  Hariott,  resigi^y, 


"ï  may  as 


/^ 


«Vi  %j«    >",^  «-^ 


f 


v: 


'  i 


29^ 


'^'  THE  RIVALS.^ 


well  get^my  tpare  bedroom  ready  ;  for  the  closing  Unes  of~ 
your  moSer's  letter,  Frank,  are  thèse  :  •  If  »that  wretohedlx>y 
does  not  leave  Baymouth  this  week  I  wiU.be  thece  next,  to 
felchhim.'"  .      ~         .     •  ^      " 

Frank,  laughs.'  "  f 

«  By  George  1  "  he  says,  '*  let  heir^  corne  by  aU  means, 
Miss  Hariott.  I  shall  be  uncomn^only  glâd  to  see  tfie  poor 
little  mater,  and  then  I  can  take  her  home  in  the  yac^ 
Ik^issjLandellc,  will  you  not  corne,  too  ?    You  wiU  enjoy  the 

trip,  I  am  sul-e."  .  • 

*' Are  you?"  responds  Miss  Undelle  ;  "then  I  am  not 
at  ail  sure.  '  Do  yoû  forget,  Mr.' Frank,  that  I  am  always 
«ea-sick,  that  I  cannot  sail  down  the  bay  in  thef  calmest 
weather  without  being  iU  ?  I  should  lijce  the  yacht  and  the 
Company,  but  not  the  mal  de  jner.    I  think  you  must  ask 

.  Reine  instead."  "1 

"  Mlle.  Reine  is  asked  of  courie— that  goes  without  say- 
ing  But  you  "— Frank's  voice  «ops  almôst  to  a  f  hisper  in 
the  intcnsity  of  his  eagerhess^"  Mis!  ]Landelle,  surely  you 
will  not  refuse  me  this  pléasure.  If  /Jou  knew^^  how  I  hâve 
looked  forward  to  it,  how  ail  this  summe»*^- "       ,      • 

"We  are  latej"  rnterniptsMiSs.LandelJer.with  placid  in- 
différence :■'*  see,  they  are  playing.  HaSl  we  not  better 
walk  on  a  little  fester,  Mr.  Frank?  " 

The  worda  are  checked  on  his  lips  as  they  hâve  been 
checked  nïany  a  time  before.  Her  calm  -uneonsciousness 
is  impénétrable,  dl  his  enthusiasm  falls  ^at  befbre  it.  He 
obeys  in  sUence,  and  they  leave  the  group  behind,  and 
hasten  forward  to  the  croquet- players.         ^ 

At  thfr  gâte  â  blear-eyed  beggar  sits  crouched  in  the  sun, 
holding  ont  his  hat  ind  whining  for  aJms.  They  pass  him 
unheedçd,  onl»  Reine  stops  kbruptly,  goes  over  and  ad- 
hbim. 


««What  nonsensel"  «xclaims  tongworth,   impatiently  ; 
«it if  that  drunken  old  scoundrel  Jackson,  wljo  got  thirtj 


.vv. 


'm£:L 


âw 


•^'the  rivàls:* 


i  293 

,  shall  stop  her~such  a  horrid  old  impostorH.  -  ^ 

•  You  wiU  leyt  her  aibne.'liays  Miw  »«««»»      a*     ^    , 

.  for^lms_^eHvereth\from  dpath,  and  the  same  is  tha^ 

Jace  soL^h  ™!"'^'^  ^noyance  has  passed  ftom  his 

\t   '  ^°'"^J»»»»«  very  différent  looks  out  of  his  eyes  as  thev 

tender  ey,sand  pitifu,  you^T^to^^^^^ 

But^Mn  Longworth  chooses  to  gn,„«,le^hen  ,hT;';,^^^ 

pie  P^h^tr  ÎKle'  T"'  '''^  '^  ^'^^'^  P^- 
•     ihe  town      hVh  •  r.  u    :*^  "^^^^  -^^^a'Jy  old  humbug  ,„ 

Yo.     ?    .     "  ^"'"  ""^  «^^  ^•^"'^  ««^  ^hat  you  gave  h^' 

.  "  Discrimiwition  is  not  one  of  the  cardinal  virtues     I  do 
n^t  posses*  it,  Mr.  Longworth."  .         a»  vutues.    1  do 

"  But  such  a  notonous  oldlfertHi- "    '      -,     ■ 

not  the  keeper  or  my  consdeX     Vn..  „     ^°"*'  r""  »« 
I.i.y  for  .c^lk^^nabUÔ  ao^»    """^  '^  *"^  """''  «   • . 
«^,  bu,  MoB,.  ba^rf  co^e.  up  ,.  a>e  moment  «m  jpù» 


/^ 


r^ 


tr- 


-^,  i 


4f    ^'i.A,      i. 


iU 


Jf.»to!l  'S»-  U»*<Jiji.--  ..      ,  >  i 


>^    '         ', 


"^-*;-  . 


-r^ 


(*I.P»MU'I 


•mim 


i^iptiMiMft^AtWM 


"v-..^^ 


294 


««  7WS  RIVALS.^ 


•v  .^ 


"I  hâve  been  waiting  for  you,  Petite,"  he  says.;  "  bonjour^ 
Mr.  Longworth.  Are  you  the  originator  of  this  philanthropie 
scheme  I  hear  th.em  discussing,  or  is  it  Miss  Hariott  ?  " 

«'  Wha^t  philanthropie  scheme  ?  ' '  inquires  Longworth,  short- 
ly*     "  i  hâve  originated  none." 

\  "  Then  it  must  be  the  ever  excellent  Miss  Hariott  !    A  , 
scheme  to  hel^  thèse  poor  peuple,  kUled  in  the  late  mill  ex- 
plosif the  otW  day " 

"As  thèse j poor  people  are  dead  an4  buried,  Mons.  Du- 
rand, 1  should  imagine  they  were  past  helping  by  any  scheme, 
however  philanthropie,"  interrupts  Longworth,  grimly. 

"Ah  !  pardon,"  Durahd  laughs,  "it  îs  that  I  express  my- 
self  so  badly.  No,  no,  tx>  help  the  families,  the  widow,  and 
the  orphan.  I  hâve  left  thein  diâcussîng  the  project  instead 
of  playing  the  croquet,  and  waiting  for  you  to  come.  Could 
they  décide  upon  anything  in  this  town  without  you,  mon- 
sieur, I  ask  ?  " 

He  asks  it  with  a  shrug,  and  a  smile  at  Reine,  and  Reine 
.hastily  interposes,  for  she  sees  an  ominous  knitting  of  Long- 
worth's  brows. 

« I  dare  say  Miss  Hariott did  originate  it,"  she  says ;  "she 
is  one  of  the  chief  sufferers  atways  by  thèse  dreadful  things 
—she  bleeds  in  heart  and  pocket  alike.     What  is  the  présent 

proposai,  Léonce  ?  "  f  ' 

"  Proposai  !  Their  name  is  légion.  A  fancy  fair,  saj'î» 
one  lady,  a  charity  bail  says  another,  a  concert  sa/s  a  third, 
with  M.  Durand  for  primo  tenore,  and  Mlle.  Reine  for  prima- 
donna.     I  say  no,  no,  no,  to  ail— let  us  hâve  a  play." 

«  I  second  the  motion,"  says  Miss  Hariott  when  they  havc 
approàched.    "  What  do  you  say,  Frank  ?" 
"  I  say  nathing,"  says  Frank,  sulkily. 
'Frank  would  die  at  the  stake  sooner  than  coïncide  with 
any  idea  of  Durand's.     Durand  laughs  in  his  airy  fashion, 


«nd  layt  one  whitc  ^4  s^P^F^^^^^S^^^^**^^^*^ 
ihoolder. 


%4:*.- 


**TaE  RIVALS: 


29S 


-     '*  François,  mon  ami- 

-Si^l^vs::^';^--^»— «... 

Miss  Unddie's  side  '  "''  "^"^  *"''J''  '='°'«'  '» 

^ro'^'l^:^Zt-"'^f""''°-  messieurs  and  «e." 
ments  upon  mvself    vn..  -I. T^^^  ^^ '*^°'* °^ ^""ange- 

you  might  like  it."  ^  ^°"  ^^e"^  as  if 

fect  angel  I  "  iJurand  you  are  a  per* 

.ndft h^tXta^"r-  -O  '—  ^»  !#; 
Frank  look.  ™  .L7 .       '^"'"  ««'Pow™  me.'.'     • 

g».t  wh«  .  m.k  ri^f  '  "",'  ',  '""  "'  »"«""«a^^  *•- 


"  Ut  »  &nn  .  «,^,^  of  „y.  ..d  rneau.-  «y.  ieck 


W 


'^ jP'î^wlm^y  *^  ^'^ll'^ 


^.J^il^^A,^  'if&'<ijà.>4,'% 


.<j.u'.lfe,'ii...  1^;,  iî" 


^    ï.--;.'Ti-, ;'■■. 


^<:Se^f&«û«n«al«, 


296 


**tirE  RIVALS» 


with,  •*  and  let  us  décide  the  matter  at  once.     Here's  a  cool 
place  under  thèse  trees — let  us  sit  down.     Nowjhen,  mon 
sieur,  you're  ihe  leader  and  chief  of  this  project— whaf  s  the 
play  to  begin  with  ?" 

A  confusion  of  tongùes  immedîately  ensues. 

"  The  Lady  of  Lyons,"  cries  shrilly  Mrs.  Beckwith  ;  "  I  will 
play  Pauline  and  M.  Durand  the  fascinàting  Claude  Mel- 

notte." 

"  Did  ever  a  collection  of  amateur  noodles  murder  a  good 
drama,  I  wonder,  withoiit  beginning  with  'The  Lady  of  Ly- 
ons ?  '  "  comments  Mr.  Dexter,  still  disgusted,  to  Miss  Marie. 

Miss  Marie  smiles,  reçjoses  under  her  pink  parasol,  listens 
and  takes  no  part  in  the  discussion.  Some  one  proposes 
"  Macbeth,"  with  Mr.  O'Sullivan  as  the  Thane  of  Cawdor, 
and  Miss  Hariott  as  th€  tï«mehdous  heroine.  This  is  over- 
niled  with  much  laughter.  "  Hamlet"  is  ambitiously  asked 
for  next  by  Mr.  Beckwith  ;  Durand  can  play  Hamlet,  Mr.  B. 
opines,  he  rather  looks  Jike  that  sort  of  thing,  and  he  might 
throw  a  little  orjginality  into  the  performance  by  singing  a 
French  comic  song,  say  in  the  grave-digging  scène,  or  just 
before  the  ghost  enters.  He,  Mr.  Beckwith,  thinks  he  might 
distinguish  himself  as  the  Ghost  This  too  meets  with  ob- 
jection. Then  tiîey  discuSs  the  "  School  for  Scandai,"  but 
hère  Mr.  Beckwith  takes  high  moral  ground.  The  "  School 
for  Scandai  "  ipn't  proper,  by  George,  and  he  isn't  going  in  for 
what  is  not  strictly  virtuous  and  correct  Nô  married  man 
ought  to  countenace  such  a  rascal  as  Joseph  Surface,  and 
Charles  was  not  much  better.  Saw  it  played  once  in  Boston, 
and  was  sorry  he  took  Mrs.  B.  The  man  who  wrote  it  oughl 
to  be  ashamed  of  himself. 

"Speaking  of  the  School  for  Scandai,  'whàt  dô  yoù  say  to 
Sheridan'sother  comedy  •  The  Rivais,'  "  inquires  Durand  ;  "  it 
jg  not  beyond  ordinary  amateur  histrionic  efforts,  and  Mr. 


Beckwith's  moral  scruples  do  no  apply. 
«Thç  Rivais,'  I  suppose  ?" 


You  ïîavê 


•  .iiii»  '«■ 


*T^^ 


^H'iLvJt'i^p 


*^TffE  RIVALS.^ 


297 


Yes,  an  had  seen  "  The  Rivais  "—if  ««..u  a         •    ,. 
««T^ft«*— ^.»  *•«=  vivais  — it  would  do  capitally. 

Letine8ee."8ay8  Durand,  fromiing  rerfecdvely     «theri. 

week  nex    Monday  t,e  ean  hâve  our  first  rehearsal,  and  the 

pease^sideryourself  Captain  Absolute'à father,^tormy 
S.r  AnthW.    Reine,  look  upon  yourself  from  th^Tour  II 

ir;  t;"'  fr  "^f  ^  '^*"«"'^'^-  ^^-«  «hei: 

Lue" .      ^'  "°'  '^  ""^^'^^  '^*"  "^^'^  »  ™ost  admirable 

^^^^^;^.  ^^"  -^^  ^^-'  ^^o^^y-^ 

thJ!lfH°r  fr  "*'"'''  """"'"^  '*^^^  bamb^hell.  explodes  in 
thé  midst  of  the  party.  Eve^rbody  is  stricken  mute,  even.? 
body  s^res.  Longworth  turns  and  looks  at  her  keen/y,  S 
Hanot^  seems  astomshed,  Marie  opens  her  soft,  sleepy  eyes. 
Durand  alone  takes  it  coolly,  *^    ^^ 

«Ah  I  weiy  he  says,  gayiy,  "a  lady's  caprice  is  a  thinR  to 
be  respected,  not  questioned.  We  omit  the  so  charming 
Madame  Shddon,  from  our  con>s  dramatique.  MadZf 
Beckwuh,  wdl  you  condescend  toaccept  the  ckaracter  of  t^e 
vivaciouà  and  sprightly  Lucy  ?  " 

"Is^it  a  good  part?"  inquires  Mrs.  Beckwith.  not  best 
pleased  at  the  préférence  given  Mrs.  Sheldon.    «  Hâve    a,n 
siderabletosay?     Can  I  wearpretty  dresses  ?  " 

One of  the  t,nndpal  pkrts, andyou  can  dress  as  bewitch     ' 
ingly  as  you  pleaiw."  «  as  oewitcn- 

si.rht^r£\r'^l''*^'^"«-™"'^"y  ^^*^'«»^  <»roP»out  of 

wuh.        You  11  hâve  to  wear  a  cap  and  a  duster   a  white 

apron withpocktsy auda diew  • 

bermaids  alwrays  d^ess<like  thal^, 
**^But  thèse  nice  propriotitts  ni 


rtoyouranHiS:    Cham- 
khe  stage." 
not  be  observed  in  ama. 


«<^'^.^s  >  J.i  'i  i^i  k*ii 


ir 


fHHMWii 


PMi4*> 


mm. 


298 


••  THE  X/VALS.*' 


teurs,"  interposes  Miss  Hariott,  soothingly.  "  Lucj's  is  a 
delightful  part,  and  you  may  get  up  the  most  coquettish  little 
costume  imaginable.  Nothing  could  suit  you  better.  M. 
Durand,  if  you  do  not  cast  me  for  Mrs.  Màlaprop  I  will  never 
forgive  you."  1 

"  Mees  Hariott,  consider  yourself  Mrs.  Malapl-op,  I  fore* 
see  you  will  electrify  us  in  that  rôle.  Marie,"  he  tums  abrupt. 
ly,  an  instantaneous  change  in  tone  and  face.  «  You  know 
the  play  well — will  you  perform  Julia  to  my  Faulkland  ?" 

*•  I  will  spoil  the  performance.     I  hâve  no  talent  whatever 
Select  some  one  else,"  she  answers,  with  a  shrug. 
^  ".Pardon.     Do  you  forget  I  hâve  seen  you  in  private  the- 
atricals  before  ?    Yes,  in  that  very  character.    As  a  favor  to 
me— I  do  not  often  ask  favors— rplay  Julia." 

There  is  a  curions  silence.  Frank  Dexter  scrovls  blackly, 
Reine  watches  her  sister  with  sudden  eagerness,  Durand  never 
moves  his  glance  from  her  face,  Marie  meets  that  glance  full, 
a  sort  of  hard  défiance  in  her  handsome  eyes. 

"  You  need  not  put  it  in  that  eamest  jivay,  Monsieur  Du- 
rand.  If  you,  as  manager  and  proprietor,  wish  it,  and  no  one 
else  objects,  I  am  quite  willing  to  oblige." 

"  A  thousand  thanks  I     You  will  play  Julia  ?" 
.   «ij  yf[\\  make  the  attempt." 

"  Aii^  you  are  the  jealous  lover  !  You  sélect  a  thankless 
rôle,  M.  l)urand,"  observes  Longworth. 

"  It  is  one  he  can  perform,  too,  l'il  be  bound,"  says  Mr. 
Beckwith.  "  Darb<;omplected  men,  with  black  eyes  and 
mustaches,  always  makç  first-rate  jealous  lovers  or  first  mur- 
derers.  ,You  don't  intet^d  to  leave  me  out  in  the  cold,  I 
l^pe,  âptpoker-on  in  Vienhft  ?  " 

"  By  W  means.  We  want  a  Bob  Acres.  You  will  be  Bob 
Acres." 

"Capital,  faithl"  says  Mr.  O'Sullivan,   who  has  beeri 
iounging  in  the  o^tskirta;*^he-wasmndeibr-thc- character- 


Are  yoii  going  to  do  nothing  for  me,  Mr.  Stage  Manager  ?" 


4 


1  - 


.'kf 


si>  iiNijaâsiii 


ïv  ^  t  *  it^  ^ 


ÈSfr^.  'A'ii^«iu^w#<î'-^iiSaÊtâ^^.*^4.-'-.rX       ^B-.-^ft 


^f'v^^f^^^^wPl^^g 


-■■^^'■■■■!^^'^ 


'*ffeè%  you  ask?    Thère  is  Sir  Lucius  0'Tn.„.       a 
"Better  and  better.    Upon  me  lîfr  .f  p     *u 
paper  forever-sure  literlre's  i  n         ^^  P"°'  ''^^'  ^"^ 

and  quotingfrom  th^Darf,;         1  u-''"'  '"'"'"«  ^^^  ^<^kmth, 

O'trigger  line  eveTylne  7  T  ^u'""«^'  °^  *"^^«^^»  ^^e 
thougf  t,e  rnZ^  ru  td^'"'  t  "^"-  ^^' 
through  my  fingers    tha„k  H..     7  *""  ''^^^  ^"PP^^ 

wuh  somebody,  I  forget  who  '^  '°  ^«'^^  *  ^"^^ 

we  can  do  better  "  '         P^'     ^  ^°  "»'  think 

assigne.!*».    Sir  Anthony^Xe  a  h     f  ""*  *' P"» 
elderlyass  of  hi,melf-a  oreltv  SJ,1  ^  '  î  "^  ""^'"8  an 

.0  M»«.,  for  .he  soie  purpos/of^ati:  r^  M^l^  '"" 
Hariott,  alone  brisk  and  t^^fi  the^ole   busmess.     Miss 

beg.n^t^e.st«dies.û^^^^  to 

VVhat  an  exceedmgly  versatile  gentleman  Jlf    n        ^ 
happens  Ço  be,"  she  observes  on  tlT^"  ■  "^""^ 


<«>Mr:  Caratbi 


■^ 


t-t/    -V 


JU.U,  ,  I.M,  of  .v«y5Wng^^f  .i^^^'l-^  ««■"»  ■» 
actor.  LiiUc  Queen ?"  '    W"  he  ever  an 


-.^ 


I  .  &.^  #vV    ^^i.  )  'Wn./^l^'î  « 


HT 


'  '  -  <Vu' 


'^^^■litvmwmmm... 


300 


"  rzKç  RiVALs:' 


"  He  is  an  opéra  singer,"  Reine  says,  çi  a  low  voice. 

"He  sings  charmingly,  I  allow,  and  although  I  do  not 

overmuch  like  M.  Durand,  it  is  impossible  to  reaJiy  dislike 

any  one  with  such  a  voice.    What  a  good  gift  it  is." 

"Yousayyoudonotlikehim?"  Reine  repéats.  "Why, 
madame  ?" 

"  How  can  I  tell  ?  He  is  handsome,  he  is  agreeable,  he 
is  polite,  but  still,  <  I  do  not  love  yo0,  Dr.  Fell  ;  '  it  is  tbat 
sort  of  unreasonable  Dr.  Fell  feeling,  I  know  some  one  else 
who  does  not  like  him  either,  Petite  Reine." 

**  You  mean  Mr.  Dexter  ?" 

"No,  niy  dear,  I  don't.,    I  mean  Mr.  Longworth." 

"And  yet— poor  Léonce— what  has  he  done  that  any  of 
you  should  dislike  him  ?  "  \ 

"Hâve  you  never  disUked  and  distrùsted  any  one,  Petite, 
without  why  or  wherefore?  How  long  does  he  remain  "in 
Baymôuth?" 

"I  do  not  know.  Until  the  end  of  September,  I  be- 
lieve." 

"Reine,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  abruptly,  "  when  arr  you 
going  to  be  married  ?  " 

"Marriedl  il/i>» /?/>«/"  exclaims  Reine  reddenii  g  and 
laughing  nervbusly.     What  a  startling  question." 

"Why  startling  ?    You  are  engaged,  are  you  not  ?     And 
marriage  is  the  customary  climax  of  engagement." 
"  Not  always."  ^ 

"Petite,  what  do  you  mean  ?     I  can  see,  I  hâve  sr  en  for 

some  time  that  there  is  something  betweén  you  and  Laur- 

ence  that  is  not  as  it  should  be.     Dear,  I  was'so  glad  when 

Jiheard  he  had  chosen  you,  so  glad  my  Little  Queen  was  to 

be  his  wife."        ,. 

"  Yes,"  Reine  says,  smîling,  but  with  a  little  quivei  ôf  the 
voice,  "  and  not  jealous  at  ail  ?  "  ^ 

-    "lshallbesoriytoloseniyinend,"'Teplt«^Wî^^^^ 
•teadily,  «  and  a  man  is  lost  as  a  friend  who  marries.    But  I 


. 


^ï-^J^^     v> 


<*'ii«.'Sjav«^ï-,  >■,,,     ,^h     ' 


. 


» 


••  riTE  RiyltLs» 


301 
*new  he  w.ittlà  mariy  sonre  rime,  and  I  was  ^l.H  »,      u 
yo"-g'ad.  thankful,  happy.»  ^      «'^"^  ^^  .^'^<'««' 

I  es,"  Reine  murmurs  snftiv  la»»:;.   <«• 
"Vou  had.vowed   ne^r   to  fe-    "  ""  >«"•" 
Hariott,  with  a  smilé  ■  "von  JL  kNp'"'     «'^'  ""   *"« 

ail,  and  I  read  yo„r  heare^ue, V,  '  î  **"  "■""'8''  " 

The  dark  face  droops  g«il.ily  de»  L  h  -  '"'^'''"•" 
chcek.  "^^  ^'  "^'P  ■*'  burning  on  gither 

"  And  he  gave  you  his  whole  heart     ir»!„     j<- 
what  a  good  gift  tbe  love  rJ  ..       1      •     *'  ^  )'<"^kno«r 

the  «rit  ;  I  saw  too  ,h,?      \  T  "*'"  '^  '    '  »«'  >"  f™™ 
this  sort  of  .hing  righTiZl/lT!":,  "'''''  ^''■'  «>•  StiU, 

youngDumndcoJson  Ihe^tanT  1:,     ,?  '°  '  "•" 

.    "How?"  asked  Reine,  defi^^'"?^''^'"  ^V! 

.ng  .0  do  wi.h  ie.     ,3  he  ;».  n.ylAe"-"''""''  "^  ""*■ 

HaHofr;::::^;;:  .t*::  L""i;^«r  *".••  ---  «;« 

l-donce  D.and  L  ^^^Z^^^J^  ;'^^^- 
créature  ever  wore;  your  KeaH  Im  •  .""  '"'""""' 
world  to  see;  and  iiurénr!  f.      .  "  ''*'"  f"  »"  "•« 

»y  dear,  a6d  he  ,■  jt  o^and  ^vt  S  •""  ^  """'"' 

•     ••  He  has  no  right  .0  be  jealonT"  rI!  «  T"*  T"«" 
hâve  ,old  him  wha,  Uonce  anj,  t7T       l"  °"'-     ""^ 

«a.  no  righ.,o  think  of  ™e  ^^e  dÔeT-  '°  '""  "*"•    «« 
My  dear,  right  has  nothing  to  do  with  it     «n.      . 

*««•■«  to  wrigh  .hi„g,,a„d  balMce  Ae  rilL?'"   *"" 

Il  ceases  ta  be  love     fi  i,  .1,  *     *"°  *^  »ronft 

unrea^ningpa./o^on'eartrir^Lt^r^'^""'""  ""^ 
jnan,  the  n.i»et  .i^pwdthril^ifa^^''''-^""^'"^* 

»  jealous  Unrea^S.  if  vou IrT^^'"""'"*"-     "« 
,  ™  antu  Durand  goe»,  w  both  wiU  remilùi. 


*■ 


y\. 


^Z:f: 


■''>¥"•'' 


i   é^k     *^;^r,\    J^Si-A,* 


I..JI.I  ..IHIM     I-    I  "       ■ 


303 


••TWfe  RIVALS."* 


It^T^  *^'^"'  ^**"*'  *"*^  '*'"'^  >'°"^  "«^«  ^'e«ch  brothcf 

"Noi  "  cries  Reine.  «I  am  not  my  brother's  keeper. 
He  shall  stay  as  long  as  he  pleasesv  With  Mr  Longworth's 
doubts,  and  fears,  and  fançies  I  hâve  nothing  to  do  If  he 
chooses  to  suspect  me  unjustly,  let  him.  I  wiU  not  lift  a  finger 
to  set  him  nght."  " 

"  Reine,  take  care  1    You  wiU  regret  this."        ^ 
"Very  likely— I  regret  many  things." 

\k-''7''^  ^°  """*  ^"°^  ï™  ^  ^  ^^-     He  will  bear  until  he 
thinks  endurance  ceases*to  be  a  virtue,  and  then " 

haugMil"'  "*'^*"^'  ^^  ^^" ^"    "^^^  "^"^  head  lift». 

"Ail  wiU  end  between  you,  and  you  will  be  the  one  to 
suffer  most.     It  is  always  the  woman  who  suflFers  mpst  » 

"  Do  you  suppose  M.  Longworth  "could  suffef>  for  the  los» 
or  gain  of  any  woman  ?  "  the  girl  says,  ïcornfuUy,     «  If  so 
do  him  justice-he  is  quite  above  any  such  weakness.     For' 
the  rest.  I  say,  and  say  again,  if  he  chooses  to  suspect  me 
unjustly,  let  hun.     I  will  not  try  to  set  him  right.     If  he  can 
not  trust  me,  then  the  sot)ner  he  gives  me  up  tîie  better  " 

"  WiUftil!»  says  Miss  Hariott,shakingherhead;  '«head- 
strong  both  of  yo«,  and  proud  as  Lucifer.  You  are  well 
matched-either  of  you  would  die  before  you  would  yield  an 
iiicn*  ^ 

"I  hâve  nothing  to  yield.  I  do  not  suspect  him.  I  am 
not  jealqus." 

"My  little  Norman  girl,  we  weaker  vessels  must  yield  or 
break.  If  I  did  not  Uke  you  and  Laurence  both  so  well,  I 
jvould  wash  my  hands  of  your  antematrimonial  squabbles, 
hke  a  sensible  maiden  lady,  who  has  had  the  wisdom  to  steer 
qlear  of  Uiem  herself;  but  I  do  like  you,  and  cannot  give 
you  up,  that  is  the  truth.  Hère  we  are-cdme  in  and  stay 
the  evenmg.     Lany  shall  take  you  home," 


Tleine  renïains  willmgly  enough,  and  they  peruic  «Th« 


'■  / 


,    a:^^^^i<,^      f4''SSf'j*-«AjiS<^l  *.-,»,.^   «e^l'J^aiî 


t  &i..'i4,',t.<iv  ^i~  ■^4îv 


ch  brother 

*  ' 

's  keeper. 
>ngworth's 
io.  If  he 
ift  a  finger 


r  until  he 

bead  lifts . 

e  one  to 
pst." 

r  the  loss 
"ff  so, 
!ss.  For 
jpect  ine 
f  he  can- 
tter." 
;  "head- 
are  well 
yield  an 

I.    l  am 

■  / 
/ 

yield  or 
a  wçll,  I 
ual;>ble8, 
to  steer 
lot  give 
a^nd  stay 


B  «TIw 


'\*''-<è^<tesf^^ir.  •'  ►■ 


"  THE  AiyALS.'* 


303 


•ing»  for  then,    whiû  th,^     '  ^''"«"'""''  ~"«».  a»d  Reine 

".d  Rei»e  looks  round  ITT^,  '2  ~"'."  '<"  '°°  «-o»- 
rises  to  go.  "^  ^°'  "°'"  ">"'  regret  as  she 

"  What  a  pretty  house  this  is,"  she  sav,     uA  -^  ,, ,. 
«■•h  you,  Mees  Hariott,  and  ^e  couId^„       m"^  '  '""^ 
.ogether  drinking  tea.  r^ading  .^o^C  s1n|^  J  ^'^  ~''/ 

rimony.    What  do  you  sa"  ?  "  ^       °'  "*°  *""  "»' 

l.ong«(orth  laughs. 

.enl^oSnlTe  waytlrT;" '".'=''»«*  '"^^'"'"• 
,     wi.h  tea  «rf  ,«„„„  books  r„!i       "^    T°  "*  P™"<''  l"' 

"Ahlwhen?    Wlioknows?    tL    i,  ^' •   ^ 
•he  vague  and  indp;'^^f„,^%';^'«  "  f  Reine.    In 
poison  hermind  witH  vo„r  Ko»  ri       •         ~^  '  >'°"  ««  and 
confi^ed  vest^lTh  t';:  ï^'"';:rf  f  "'^"--es, 
-  he  tums  tôlier  Iiis  ev«  1,    i-  '  '  ?""''  '<>'<'  y»"." 

Hariott  toia^i;;:^^  ^"«'""«'  "*^"/"ee  asked  Mi» 

D.d  Ae  tell  you  also  that  she  refused  n,e>" 

«serve/niy  ZZl'  T  K^eT^''  *" V  ''""'^ 


#v< 


.'^' 


ÈL'i4#^l*^'.V--V<  »«v^     .4 


'  J*!,^^*»!.  J»^*'^*'»''» 


■|Hi 


-,  •  ■•3** 


••  riŒ  X/FAZS.» 


«lost  unfoffunate  ia  the  past      et  us  h        !u    r    "^^  *""*" 

;;Does  not  the  présent  ?"  inquiW  Miss  Hariott. 

the  ^°'„T^*^'°%-  Good-night,  fair  hostess.  Don't  let 
the  small  hou«  fi„d  you  studying  the  «rit  1^^  T  \ 
Mrs.  Malaprôp."  ^    *^         ^  '  ^'^^^  ^^^^'o™  «' 

They  go  home  through  the  sweet  «m«n;«     r  • 
darknes^HDf  the  Aum,.*  nL.  ««"ening,  famt  warra 

them  in  the  irrate      hn.        ?       ^  fragments  and  threw 

whothin.;^ rthat^i^e:^^^^^^^     r  ^-"^• 

an  anonymous  letter,  and  41^^  1^'^ 

once  your  affiancèd.     There  are  thZl    u^'  ""^ 

to  the  position  still.     Do  you  t^nlt^^^'  "^J""^'' 
of  a  servant?"  "imjc^^th^  letter  was  the  work 

Longworth  answers  nothirig-  he  has  heen  tu;  v        .    ' 
matter  over  himself     p,,*    u        i.  "  thmkmg  the 


\    „   ■ 


iiii£Sj',>^ï«.'>SaSu  ^;; 


'àJf  tf|^'*s^-|*'/^^fesksiè&^«,\^3}3!;  .>M 


fï,^n?^ 


ont    by  thii 

în  âingularly 

blows,  how- 

they  not  ?|  " 

I  hâve  been 

future  will 

tt. 

Don't  let 
wisdom  of 

faint  warm 
king  little, 
gethçr  and  , 

by  refusing 

ïonce  tore 
and  threw 
i^as  found. 
le  to  Write 
îldon  was 
^e  aspires 
the  work 

9- 

iking  the 
lewed  by    ' 
next  day, 

urence/*  . 
er  eyésj 
)w,  but  I 
htjurely 


^^'■ 


ight  you 


t,^""^  look.  «  h.r  c^ican,,  „„„„„,  ,,  ^.  ,^,.„^ 

you  hâve /  ,  cduldn-tThcKA  herir  H?;'  "^  "'"'"' 
»  »  l»<lyi  prérogative,  ahd  besMes  Tl.  !  !"  "^  '^*' 
not  rath^radmire  her  spirit.»  /""  ""***^ 

craZ^^^^^^         ^'^•«''"<ori„,„,ti„g„,e';    Ohi  ,hi,  i, 

/^"^'C^vXtilf-^^^rî  "V'"  ■'^■•"  •*- 

>okea8shedid?»  ^'•»"  ^  «"'Vieil  you  why  she 

"If>oupIeas,=.    Hyouknow.» 

Monsieur  DuraaStore  uô  anrf  k"""":.  """  *''  '"'  "«*. 
letter.     One  frig„enre,L„,H     T"^"'  '«B-nents  ofl 

oné  in  thi,  houtirL TcSd"   a"'.""'"'  ""  "^  «"^ 
and  sent  tO  me.   The  lettér  wl!?  '  """"J""»'"»  letter 

,ov.»s„r«,isea,.o,!:^r^./-r,'.t-;o"''  '''  '^^  "" 
■n  my  „„n  défense,  I  shall  h,,™  """•■">  ™"«  '»  say;  only, 

Aunications.    Tirae    ^^1^  f    «"y  Rmher  namel^s  co™: 


CHAPTERxxn. 

«end  M^^S.    ,t"?  'o  make-aitall  up^  y, 
L  ..    ■     "'^i^     '»  "  <u  «rell  to  say  Miw  Ha. 


™*  '^^^^  as  ne  draws  near,  foi 


^ 


j^a^Èliàft^/"'  »  V.'  -  •^, , 


4- 


(I 


I       ' 


i: 


w^f^mmm 


.  "WiU 
Malaproj 


friend's  choosing?  " 


M: 


r^    "  T«B  sivALso-OK  rms  STAGE  A!fD  orr.  '' 

Uvitr  7P'«<»„«">0  w.n..  ,„  disgrac  her  familv,  and 
livish  Iierself  on  a  fellow  nol  worth  a  shilling  I  "       ' 

oE^'"  ^^'^'*  Lang"!»!..)-"  Madame,  I  .honght  you 

(M"^_MaUp™p.)^..You, honght,  miss!     I  don'l  knoW 

.  ,     *ha.  bnsmess y„„  hâve  i,  think  a.  alll  thongh.  does  „ot  Z- 

corn,  a  yonng  wonian.     Bu,  ,he  point  we  «ould  request  of 

you  .s,  .hat  you  will  promise  ,o  fo^.  this  fellow-l  i || ,  ° . 

ate  him,  ï  say,  from  yoitr  oieraor^  . 

Long,rorth  glances  at  Reine,  his  smile  fading.  He  is 
th-nking  of  D„ra„d-.he  words  Wh,  ,„  apply.  ^  v21 
Reme  ,s  also,  for  the  paftos  of  hè,.one  is  very  real  a^-'hê 
answers  :  ^  -  ,  /    ^.c«  «»  auc 

wirn^^T. -*^^'"''  °"'"  ™^'"°''^''  ^^  independeut  of  our- 
wijls.     It  IS  not  so  easy  to  forget" 

j|rs.  M.)^"But  I  say  it  is.  missi  toe  is  nothing  on) 
eartff  so  easy  as  tb  forget.  if  a  person  chooses'  to  set 

■  V  K  u  T^  ^^^  ^  ""*^^  foî^ot  Tour  poor  dear  ur 
if  he  had  never  existed,  and  I  thmPt  it  my  duty  soi 

A  and  let  me  téU  you.  Lydia,  thèse  violent  memories^ol 
CQine  à  )'oung  woman."  '  • 

Mif^li^r^  r  ^°*^'t•^''''^*P^^^"^"  ^•■°'"  the.mndow. 

hav^  i^Éiw^'*' ?'"  Patheticaily.   "what  crime 
nave  i  riiiiHHiird  *«^e  treated  thus  ?  " 

to  dqyfyou  are  bid  ?  »  demànds  Airs. 
"  Wiir  you  take  a  husband  of  your 


Maçtaner  resïkJhdsXydi^  cmpHaticalIy,  and 


<^' 


castsado» 


.  a-t-rf-^- 


^» 


y 


•  r^4  */K.x^;.-oAr  r^s  sr.oÉ  ;^^  of^.    307, 


;  \ 


îf^âifereiice  for  any  one  clse  the  chnl  u^     ^  *'*'^ 


(#>ûW1|)e  iiiy  aversion 4" 
Ig  "And  what  buiiiness  h&ve  vo«  m,,o  i  »     •     ,> 
Prop,  in  a  fine  furv   "  v.Tf  h        ?^^'  '     "'^'  ^"-  ^aJ»- 

"  ^s  both  always  welr  oK™   r  '  '""^  '°"  *'"«^'  ^°  ''"«'^  '^^ 
a  littîe  aversfonT'      ^       *"^^''  '"  '"^^"™«»>'  ^°  ^egin  wiih 

you  want,  to.    I  can't^n  !>,      ,r  "  "'°'^'  "  ^°'"«  '"'  ^^ 

,  Ixipk,  miss,  aiid  to  stutfv      t  -»  ^    .  ,,  ^**^  >'°"«" 

VVhere,isMrs.Dexter?''heasks. 

«he  has  taken  un  and  iJr^  !  ?'    *' '"3™  «"own  the  worfc  '- 
"  Can  she  do  W  ?  -  ^*^  '^^  ^"'"''  '  " 

ïïf!5?aMag!Mkj* -"-"?^^^^    Reine,  «If-willed. 


!»j.$i-&  >i%-»fc  *. ,  '^ 


..i*3 


L.'isài'ïrf! . 


m '■:...:  -■ 


^TT 


II,     >-'l       '  l'    '       •       ^'1"    ' 


w»^' 


M" 


{  .■■■ 


308     ^THE  RIVALS'-OHTHB  STAGE  AND  OFP.\ 

„.s  Longwcrth,  lazfly,  but  with  an  amused  look  in  W»  eye^ 
^L  the^uesUon  Ihkt  naturaUy  présents  itself  to  an  «q«.r. 
iigmmd,is:  is  the  game  worth  the  candie  ?  " 

"  The  man  who  couM  asl  such  a  question."  begrn.  M.^  • 
Hariott  vehemently.  Then  she  stops  and  takes  »P  '«'J°*; 
"I  worft  say  ànother  wordl"  she  exclauns.  "You  we. 
ready  to  sit  Aère  and  abuse  h.r  for  the  next  hour  or  Ihe  .- 
pleasure  of  hearing  me  contradict  you  I  I  won  do  it  1  > 
■^  Longworth  laughs.  and  silence  Mb.  OuU,d.  the  tot 
«a-breeze  stirs  among  the  September  «owers,  bées  boom  m 
"wavLwung  lilies  and  wind-swung  rosés."  the  sharp  crack 
of  the  «rasshopper  pierces  the  hot.  dry  gras». 

R^Lf  appe^  to  hâve  totally  vanish^."^  The  day ,,  «. 
day  so  long  expected.  so  much  talkedW,  and  to-n.ght  ^y- 
-mouth  is  to  be  electrified  by  th.  grand  amateur  Perf»™»"" 
of  '■  The  Rivais.»     For  the  last  ten  days  driîssma^ers  hâve 
been  busy.  costumes  hâve  been  sent  for,  «hearsals  hâve  been 
g^ing  on.     À  crowdea  house  is  expected  ;  a  ve^r  htde  goe. 
flong  way  in  Baymouth.    There  are  daily  reh^rsals,  and 
m,  'squabbles.  d«pair  and  fren.y  on  the  part  of  Wons,e« 
Durand,  chronic  sulkiness  on  the  part  of  *«  P**™"; 
The  manager's  task  is  a  Hereulean  one.  the  dnllmgof  thèse 
«wlrutts  a  formidable  and  thankless  -•'-«^•"g.  bu* . 
after  a  fashion  he  accompHshe,  it    Among  *^y.^^^ 
•corps,  Frank  Dexter  is  perhaps  the  most  .ncomgible.  the 

.  3  maddeningly  pig-headed.    I'-*  "•- '»^" 'tT. 

.  at  the  manager',  most  innocent  remark^  *ho  '^^'^ 
wing»  and  scowls  like  a  démon,  daily,  dunng  the  tove  Pa* 
r«l^tweenFa«lklandandhisinsipidJaH..    Andperhap. 

S  th.  character  was  first  perfo,«ed  it  ■^  «""«"f,"»* 
Tutterly  flat.  stale,  and  vapid  as  iS  the  hanà.  of  M»s  M«« 
^deUe'    FkulkUnd  may  rave,  may  gl|ue,-  may  spou.  h» 
au.n.y.p.Prha«^in.passion^dly  «»^orJalm.«m.y,hegri^ 
lîTnoansweringresponse in that coolb^.  ™"'^^^ 
her  «diant  hair  felUng  like  a  glon»  abbut  her,  her  beaotrfal 


^: 


îfto  **x 


■  -,%  ■'  -j  ,H- 


(r. 


,'■.',>' 


■■  ^^  ^^^  STAGE  AND  OFF.     309 

eyes  fixed  ubon  him  rerw.af«  1,     i-         . 

talking  doU.    And  it  is  a  nori^!!.,  T      .     '"^  *=  ""«  » 

emoiselle.  his  cousin  ;  ^l  IT^fT',  """'^  '°  '""•'■ 
growing  up  between  him  an^  p  •       .  ^"^  «f  ''estraint  s 

,»«.  »<.  'of  wh.rht^i^^;^;-;;f  *t  "'•  ^"«"°'* 

-   '«««e'>tlnnanisthatofaH„.L,  The  manner  of  thij 

■     b„.  ever  Ja.chf„,  al?„.tt„s     S  """"^  «"'"«"«. 

atease.   Don't  use  vour  iZ^  "^  "'^'"''«-    Stend    î 

«»»e  o„e  dse,  ^  '^,  ZTtT  "  ^  *'>'  '«'™'!«'  «o 

«wi.r[;X'::rei«p««^^^^^     poH.e„es.  ■ 

a».pu.ated  ?    My  legs  a^  Zt  '  "  '  '"*  "^  »"'  ""-», 

^ould  continue   .ocJu«Xr„ '""''.*""  "«""«y    ' 

spllln  WsîSf-SjId'  r^'  r""»  '»  '''^  ™î«.  -fe- 
*e«»dience.  W  t»  j"!  T' "'^""^'«'^  'o 
face  to  Ihe  house."         ^    '     '""'"  "^  3'<'«'  «"■">  «better 

f-f'-ou.eneednYlo^'a.iftlL"'^  ?'?'''.'  '*'  '»'  '«=«' 

if^BF   Mt  vnmtr    ■.■■■il'  ^^  * 


r  at  yoy  , 


"'  *•  •«■»««» "-.«d  ..«reax  *™„g  ,u,^    ^. 


ii^k^;;:  «'I..^«sfe;..M .... 


3IO     -  THE  RIVALS^^—ON  THE  ^f4GE  AND  OFF. 

mouth  nmsters  vell  to  enjoy*the  blilûdeis  and  breakdowns  of ^ 
the  amateurs.  "  At  eight  every  seat  i?iRd,  and  the  orchestra  r 
isinfuU  blast— sileat  expectations  of  fun  to  corne  fills  the 
house.  ^Behind  the  scènes  dire  confusion  and  flutter  obtaiii, 
people  4ith  painted  faces  and  wigged  heads  rush  frantically 
to  and  flro,  little  yellow-covered  books  in  their  hands,  gabbhng 
idiotically.  M.  Durand,  in  the  dress  of  the  somber  Faulkland, 
is  ubiquitous,  gesticulating,  imploring,  beseeching,  trying 
madly  to  evoke  order  out  of  chaos.  In  the  midst  of  the  con- 
fusion, worse  confouiyied,  up  goes  the  curtain,  and  on  go 
Fag  and  the  Coachman  ! 

And  hère  the  fun-expectant  audience  are  not  disappointed. 
Memory  and  voice  forsake  thèse  two  poor  players  instanta- 
neously,  at  sight  of  that  sea  of  eager  faces,  and  twinkling 
eyes.  In  vain  the  prompter  roars  in  a  husky  and  frantic 
whisper,  painfuUy  audible  to  ail  présent  but  the  two  unfor- 
tunates  for  whom  it  is  intended.  "  Corne  off  1  "  at  last  de- 
spairingly  is  the  cry,  and  Fag  and  the  Coachman  go  off  wiser 
and  saddder  men.  The  opening  scène  closes  in  humiliating 
and  abject  defeat,  and  Bayniouth  titters  audibly  and  feels  that 
it  is  getting  its  mone/s  wofth. 

The  next  is  the  room  of  Miss  Lydia  Languish— Miss  L^ 
L.,  in  délicate  pink  silk,  her  profuse  dark  hair  coiled  about 
her  small,  shapely  head,  "  discovered  "  leclining  in  an  easy 
chair,  and'  Lucy,  the  maid,  in  the  most  toquettish  of  dresses, 
and  most  undaunted  of  voi^^s,  cornes  briskly  forward,  and 

speaks : 

"  Indeed,  ma'am,  IVe  traversed  half  the  town  in  search  of 
it.    I  don't  believe  there's  a  circulating  library  in  Bath  I 

ha'n't  been  at.'»  /  . 

The  audience  feel  they  are*to  be  cheated  in  this  scene—it 
is  going  to  *•  go  off."    Reine  speaks,  and  her  rich,  fuU  voice  ifl 
— pefféclïydistincftoidi.   MtfcBeckwitfaj^tfafrBpri^^ 

covcr»  herself  with  renown.    MUe.  Reine  knows  her  Unes, 
and  âays  thcra  with  fpirit  and  effect    Presently  entera  Mari« 


tiS>   a??^.. 


£ï  ^^iJ^_^S.w^'^^^J».i>^''Â&. 


.-'>.• 


[4 
1*. 


^^  ^^^  ^^^GE  AND  OFF      %ir 
as  Julîa,  beautifully'dressed  anH    *   •  . 
there  breaks  forth^elrf;  and      *f  '  °^  *^"^  *"g^«<=  ^^ce 

lovelmess  as  Marie   Land.ii-  ?  ^''"'^"^  *«  ^er  rare 

«hc  ever  sa  slightly  acknowl\f       '^  '"""  ^°  ^^^  ^'>.  as 

^  her  manner  is  listless,  her  voice  W  t  ^  '""^'^  ^"'^^'^^  «"^^  ; 
a  well  disposed  gan^b,  leaZ  otT'tf  T''"  ^°"^''  ^^ 
her  at  last  to,  -  Speak  ud  m?f  T  ^  ^"^^'  ^'"«îJy  urges 
8elf."  P'^t  "P'  "'^«  >  don't  be  ashamed  of  your! 

Mrs.  Malaprop  and  «îiV    a   .u 
Anthony  ve,y  ,o„en„g  as  .o  hT,?  '"''°'""  'P'«"-S'> 
«s  to  his  face,  but  déficient  as  t\   ""'  ""^  "'"P'>'  ^-g^d 
to  !.«  voice,  and  sto^  ril'"^''^,^  "''""»y.  indiflèren,  „ 
snnle  reappears  on  the  face  „f  ^        ""^  movement.     A 
•er,  as  ,he  irascible  sLAnlo^^'""'"-**^-  *'""«'  Dex 
"one/s  worth  once  more     Mrs     ".^"'"^  '°  «'"  "  '" 
to  the  o,f,er  extrême  ;  her  ^t,»!^    ^^'"'"^-  ^""""^  goe* 
unffinchingly.  and  sh;  tmSr''  '^"  """''  ^^'"°»* 
"ho  hâve  appeared  befoTht  fte  r"'"'"  ""  ^'"<''  "'' 
hps.  ""'  the  moment  she  opens  her 

'  Jn  the  next  act  Mr  t 

gold  trimming,  „f  the  da^hS'J"  *'  ""''^'  ^"'^  »<» 
'"te,  appears,  and  Mr.  JnZrth  ;,       7"^  ^'P'""  A"»* 

master  ofboth  voice  and  me^Ô*L„  '""  ""«'«'•  " 
feel  .t  has  reallygone  to  aTZ.T  ^JT'"'*'  *^'"  "> 
Play_  This  imp4sion  i°  contat^r"'  t'  "'««"g  «  . 
I^kly  handsome,  deeply  jeltHn  ^*''"«  °"««4 

velvet,  strides  forward  to  the  f!^  i  •..  '"  "^"■"■W  black 
hands  of  Mr.  BeckwitM,  IT  «^'^  ^«^  ^">»-  »  the 
^O^.OTriggercom^  !  .t  rf^;:^,!'"'"^"  =  bu.  Si, 


"%.-  'iH^^*       ,ï 


■-/! 


^.  ■i'"!^  ..tZf.^'.'^  '*'  '^yi^ 


»  "'  /   4r    1^- 


312     «TURMVALS^-OUraMSTAGBASD'fP.  ', 

b«n  laboring  under,  and  stamps  up  and  down.  memonr  and 

•'"theT^n'bc  no  doub..  howe^t,  «11  as  Long»orth. 
Cy^m^n  anS  MUs  Hariott  acquit  *en.seWe.  t^.  Dn- 
rand  is  ore-eminently  the  star  of  the  night.    There  is  a  reai 

^  love  that  Baymouth  has  n0t  expected.  and  that  holds  it 

«he^e/atitas  th<^gh  he  MJiever  donc  anythmg-Ue 
but  make  lo/e  fo,  and  be  jealous  o^.  Mbs  Mane.     By  George, 
vnn  know  he  does  it  as  if  be  meant  it." 
'^ïv^n  Ae  fiftb  act  opens  «ith  the  nnpas«on.d^ne 
be^en  r^toviUjalia's  renanciarion  of  him^nd  Faulk- 
wtderplr-th Jis  something  almost  painM  m  the  r«^ 
^  thetatensity with «hich Durand goes through .t     Ma^e 
Z,  for  U»  J  time  draws  np  her  tall.  .»!«■«?«  «8"e.her 
eye,  kindle.  she  extends  one  hand.  her  vo.ce  nses.  het  gaze 
uUxes  W^-V"-^  «-,Xk^:^rrvoice  ring,' 
Ce'r  s. :r:.;ot  rZlghtat^^d  «ère  n».  acring.b„t 
_S«ô«bnility      ..Asoncemy&ithhasbeen  given  yoo, 
-Twm  tver  baJier  U  with  another     I  sbaU  pray  f,r  ro« 
h«Duiness  and  the  dearest  blessing  1  can  ask  ot  Heaven  to      . 
ï!^d  Z%riU  be  to  charm  you  fron.  that  unhappy  JeW*.^ 
^^ISnTh^  prevented  the  performance  irfo*  «-le»" 
!^«emenl    And  let  U  not  be  yoar.l*.rt  regret  that  .t  ha. 
ZTouÂe  '»«  of  onewhownia  hâve  toUowed  yo»  m 

'X^gr;r.:^^be 'hand.  »d -ethlng  »  - 

Z  th!^  not  acttog.    FSflktajd-.  ^'^^^'^^ 
e»ery)ifairt.    "She  i»  gone,  Mid  foreverl-Ohl/ool.  <""«' 


ii^ty4i»e  cent,  to  «e.    An  iflured  ««e  ^««  W» 


"fasSr.*'" 


S 


m 


(  '■ 


-^"B .^^'t<!B  AND  OPF      »n 

baiïained  for  corne  in  hère  ?    B.,T  ,r^  ?"  *'  '"'Sh  *e, 
•r    Bob  Acre,  i,  f„„„ier  ^L^l  Boh  f  ^*"'  "««n"».  ""d 

,     «d  doesn't  care  whethêr  he  bl,n^       ^'  "  '"^^^^r  sulky, 
»  in  a  broad  grin  once  m„«  ^h  "  ?  "  '"'•''"''  °'^'"°"* 

The  Rival,  ends.    AlZettr  i  >,  """"  '■^''-    -^ 
«■■>  Bayn,o«h  décide,  if  Z,  P        .  "  ""'  ''«■'  ™<*  ^d 

Malaprop  i,  called  for,  CaZl  fh  T"  ""'  «""'-Mrs. 
"hen  he  appear,  holding  rLh'^t"''."  ""«"  "■"'  »d 

«=^«1  for,  but  décline  to  coie  <!.  ï  ';°""«'  '""«  »« 
"l'cd  for  vociferou^y,  and  TL  t"  T  °'™««"  « 
of  size  and  beautv     Win,  *"'  "  «""«  a  bouauet 

when  io,  i,  ,w„  t„.  :„re^;:^e:  hf""  '"  •»■''  "  -'• 
majesiically  ,o  the  région,  Ie„„  !  '  «rasp,  and  a,cend, 
fron.  a,e  great  Sir-E,  1  '  /""•  *  "'""k  ^tare 
«>"  th.  curtain  i,  d».»  '''^„""' ''■'=  -dience.  and 
a»«eur  perforn«nce  i,  .,  an^j""     "  ''*''""°6  and  the 

Pany,  m  high  g«Hi  humor  ftX»;!'  """l"  *=  "'■»'«  co». 
"■«  -d  d,at  excepZ'  L  t  D^S^T'  '^"^^  ''=«' 
«eem,  to  exchanee  ihe  hi..«-  j  î.  '  "'''°  '^  *«  «a.re 
Anthony  for  .he'n^,""Jr„l  ""T'  '*»««"  „f|i^ 
T*erea.  Faulkland ïin  tTe^M T?' •°"*  «"-aulkland 
«clteraenl  of  the  even^^g  ,  J!"!"  t  ■"'<<  "'«î''  'PW-^  the 
l*e  Champagne.    PeA^!  T^  ,'°  ï'"'^  «<""•  '<>  "i,  head 

k"»  keep  ,0  pe«UtenUy "rL^^         l"""'  *"  "'"■« 
«tche.  him,  tha.  terrofLL!^!,?^''  "''  '"'«»•    ««»« 
^  6     rui  watches  hcr,  she  watchet 


m 


Uf-i 


i^tlMj 


w 


*fipPi|wpi 


I  ► 


t.- 


'-     r.a  rat.  StAOE  AtfD  Otf- 

^  pale.  »d  f««J  '  ""^^X^  rits  keep  a.  fev«  t«a^ 
l^riT'u.rfJ^-PO"'  ..e.  actin.  but  cb,^y  ^ 

«  Yottbear  it  well,  at  teast,    «ys      .  ^iU^al,  but  'ne  sce^ 

For  Marie,  wb<>Hnext  hrni,  she  ^,D«,«,dnamore, 

Supper  ends^iV  nse  »^  °  ^         apartment.     A  ma- 

-       to  Durand.   »ees  him  Usten^  ^^^^^^^^  ^^^^^^  „^,, 

doots  too  dose.    He  h«  >  „  to-oigh«." 

..  Stitt  Ihe  smokmg  dea  •»  »  goo^      ^  „ 

•     He  go».    The  mght  ■  «"'' ^^„„„,  ,te»ted.     He  .. 

,  yigoelyuiwa»y;  **"""*.'         esters  »  upon  him  more 

Z  be«.een  Durand^^  ^J^      ^^,  *e  manuer 

.tn.n,ly  than  evet.    ^'^  "  *  m-.  ^     «hybasKeme 


\       ' 


V 

's, 


r  y%à«t4?' 


,te,'^m^aS« 


v.'#Jl 


.  .<^-.-,r 


•^TÈB^ttVALS^^Oir  THE  STACE  AND  OFF.     31$ 

gonewith  him  ?  He  Kghts  l»s  cigsr  with  a  sarage  feeUng 
upon  him  of  being  plotted  against  àAd  tricked^  and  stands. 
Teaning  upon  the  porch,  hidden  in  tiie  obscurity  of  the  night. 
Presently  as  he  stands  motionless  he  see  two  figures  ap- 
Iiroaching  fiom  the  opposite  end  of  the  walk.  His  sight 
is  keen  ;  it  is  a  ma»  and  a  woman—it  is  Durand  and  Reine, 
and  it  is  Reine  wh©  is  speaking  in  a  véhément,  passionatefy 
angry  undertone.  In  the  stiliness  he  hears  every  wortl 
^  "I  hâve  told  you  again  and  again,  and  yct  again»  I..éonce, 
that  this  rashness  will  be  fatal — ^you  wi»  mm  us  ait 
Already  people  look  at  us  with  suspicion  and  curioùCy,  to- 
night  iDore  than  even  I  entreat  you,  ]\knplore  you,  to  go 
before  it  is  too  late." 

•"I  will  not  go,"  he  answerSj  doggedly.  «*  I  had  the  right 
to  corne,  I  hâve  the  right  to  stay.  What  care  1  for  people's 
looks  or  suspicions?  Let  the  worst  come  if  it  will  ;  nothing 
can  be  worse  than  leaving  roy  wife  to  be  made  love  to  by 
another  man.  You  may  preach  prudence,,  but  I  am  not  a 
stock  or*  a  stone.  I  can't  endure  this  much  longer.  Theré 
are  times,  î  tell  you,  when  I  ani  almost  mad.  The  end  will 
be  that  I  will  go  to  Madame  Windsor  and  tell  her  alh" 

"  Then  hear  me  I  "  Reine  cries,  still  in  that  pâssionate 
undertone,  ♦*  on  the  day  you  do,  I  give  you  up  forever  I  I 
will  never  forgive  you,  nor  see  you,  I  swear  it,  as  4ong  as  I 
live.  What  !  9re  3'ou  a  coward  and  a  traitor,  as  well  as — i>— " 
"  Go  on,"  Durand  says,  with  a  jeering  laugh. 
"  Wàs  it  not  enough,"  she  veheniently  retorts,  but  always 
in  that  pâssionate  whisper,  «f  to  entrap  3  girl  who  loved  you, 
who  trustée  you,  into  a  secret  marriage,  but^oa  must  break 
your  solemn  promise  and  corne  hère  and  blight  her  every 
prospect-iq.  life?  Léonce!  Léonce!"  she  cries,  and  ail' 
at  onçfr  the  hot  anger  dies  out,  and  her  voice  breaks  into  a 
•obt    **  Ygu  must  indeed  be  mad." 


Theypasson.    Durand  lingers  for  a  moment  in  the  porch, 
holding  both  her  hands  and  speaking  eamestly.    Then  h« 


^'^•ji.iAv 


•  / 


mm 


mmmiiîMiÊÊ^i» 


1— i— *— Il     I    .— »— «^— »*ii>  , 


316     «•  riKB  X/FAlS**—OAr  THE  STAGE  AND  OFf, 

bends  and  kisses  her,  and  both  pass  out  of  sight  and  hearing 

into  the  house. 

For  Longworth— he  stands  stunned  ;  it  is  no  figure  crf 
speech— literalïy  and  absolutely  stunned.  He  takes  off  his 
bat,  a  sort  of  giddiness  upon  hini  for  a  moment.  His  wife  ! 
Durand's  wife  1  The  words  keep  beating  themselves  out  in 
his  brain  over,  and  over,  and  over.    This,  then,  is  the  secret^ 

at  last 

He  doesnot  know  how  Ipnghe  stands.-  He  hears  the 
Company  breaking  up,  but  he  does  not  stir  ;  he  hears  him- 
self  inquired  for,  but  it  n^ver  occurs  to  him  to  raove.  Près- 
ently  they  corne  flocking  out,  and  there  is  a  confiision  of 
tongues,  many  voices  speaking  at  once,  and  wondering  where 
he  can  be.  The  angle  of  the  porch  screens  him  compîetely, 
his  cigar  has  gone  out  and  does  not  betray  him.  He  can 
distinguish  the  voice  of  Reine,  then  Marie  speaks,  "then 
Frank,  then  Durand. 

"  He  only  stepped  out  to  smoke  a  cigar,"^àaysj  Miss  Har- 
iott,  lierplexedly,  "  the  earth  cannot  hâve  opene^  and  sw^l- 
lowe<J  him,  can  it  ?  "  / 

"  Ybu  haven't  an  old  oak  chest  ànywhere  about,  hâve  you  ?  " 
says  li^tle  Mrs.  ÎBeckwith,  laughiiig.  "  If  so,  open  it  before 
you  gi  to  bed  and  you  will  find  |lis  moldering  remains." 

"  SJÎoul^n't  wonder  if  hci/got  ^red  of  ûs  ail  and  went  home 
promis^uously,"  says  Mrs.  Beckwith's  lord  and  master. 
*•  Odd  fellow  Longworth,  playéd  uncommon  well  to-night. 
Went  dpwn  on  his  knees  to  y<iu,  Ma'amselle  Reine,  as  if  he 
was  use^  tô  it,  bless  you,  and  liked  it  Well,  gooAnight— 
good-m<^ming  rather,  Miss  |ïariott,  for  there  goes  two  o' 
dock.    kDome,  my  dear."  \    \ 

They  ^o  down  to  the  gâte  and  disappear  with  manygood- 
nights,   ikiahy  wondering  çémœents  where  Mr.  Longworth 

tiH)er-WM4ss  IIariottfretuin8Jie.stepg  ontoChig^eon; 


ceaknentl  and  follows  her  ifito  the  house. 
and  recoins  from  him  with  a  scream. 


She  tums  round 


#'^ 


Vr.'l- 


■f:M»il|!r 


■  >  js_^^' 


BY  THE  GARDEN  WALL. 


31; 


X 


"  Laurence  I    Good  Heaven  !    What  is  the  matter  ?  » 
"  What  do  you  see  the  matter?  "  he  says,  io  a  voice^hat^^, 
does  not  Sound  IJke  Longworth's.  /    ,»,/' 

•♦  Look  at  yourself,"  she  answers,  and  he  glances  at  a  miiw 
ror  opposite.  >   His  face  is  deadly  white. 

"Ah  !  pale,  am  I  ? "  ,  \ 

\^  "  Pale  !    You  are  ghastly.    What  in  Heaverfs  name  has 
hirp{)ened  ?"  ^  ' 

"  Nbtiling  has  happened.     I  think  I  had  a  touch  of  verti- 
TO,  out  there— heat  probably.     I  did  not  join  the  people, 
yki  I  could  not^  without  saying  good-night." 

"  Drink  this,"  she  says,  and  hands  him  a  glass  of  wine. 
Her  hand  shakes  as  she  offers  it;  something  has  happened, 
something  strange  and  out  of  thé  jcommon  she  feéls. 
',He  takes  it  with  a  smile. 

"I  always  obey  you,  I  think,"  he  says.     «You  are  the 
best  and  truest  of  friends..    Good-night." 

He  lays  down  th»  glass,  finds  his  hat,  and  before  she  can 
speak  is  gone. 


\ 


f^ 


CHAPTER  XXIIL 

F/  THE   GARDEN  WALL. 


lOTHEÎ-t,"  saj^s  Frank  Dexter,  "I  want  to  ask  a 
fiivor." 

It  is  the  rt©ming  foUowing  the  theatricals,  and 
Mr.  Dexter  has  niade  the  earliest  of  morning  calb  upon  hii 
mother.  They  hâve  the  little  sunshiny  parlof  ail  to  tliem- 
selves.  Mrs.  Dexter  occupies  a  rocking-chair  and  is  swaying 
to  and  fro,  a  placid  sniile  on  her  face  as  she  watches  her  tall 
«on-    Thaf 


iwwg  gentleitoatt  roaii»  restlesstyabon^  pidnî^ 
up  bqoks  and  throwing  ^hem  away,  sitting  down  suddenlj 
«nd  getting  up  abruptljr.    Something,  beyond  doubt,  is  prey- 


M%^' 


,^*^ 


p)!to^fe«j„  '4j4J. 


iffpi 


;' 


>  kx., 


-.      '     -.y ''"^:^-'-' t' •  "^-Vï»;^ '-^'^i*'   ■•^^^■7,',    "'-^'iîtrv 


318 


BV  THE  GARDEH  JVAU^ 


ing  on  Mt.  Dcxtei'»  mind.    The  T«y  tinfest  of  tiny  matron» 
is  Mrs.  Dexter,  and  proportiooably  proud  of  her  six4bcrt  son 
—a  gentle  little  soûl  more  used  toasking  than  grantin|5|avor8, 
more  accnStomed  to  obeying  than  being  obeyed.    One  ol  ^    . 
the  docile  sort  of  little  women  who  always  mind  their  men    * 
folks,  whether  as  fathers,  hnsbands,  or  sons,  and  who  do  aâ  ^^ 
tiiey  are  bidden.  like  good  grown-up  children,  att  their  hves.  f .Jt 

«  ^es,  Franky  dear,"  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  folding  two  mitei  ., 
of  hands  on  her  lap;  «only  please  sit  down,  dfjar.     You 
make  me  nervous,  fidgeting  about  so.  '  Whaî  is  it  ?  " 
"  You  are  going  to  Boston,  Ihis  aftemoon,  roother  ?  " 
^♦Yes,  dear.    A«  I  retaœn  to  Georgia  so  soon,  ï  miist  go 
to  Boston  at  once,  if  I  go  At  ail.     I  realîy  «ust  gC^u  know. 
dear,  having  so  many  Êriends  thcre,  and  comin^r  JPirth  so  sel- 
dom.     And  then  I  hâve  such  a  quantUy  df  Shopping." 
"  How  long  do  you  propose  staying  in  Boston  ?" 
"  Well,  two  or  three  days,  perhaps  a  week.     Certainly  not 
Irmger.     Your  poor  dear  uncle  hate^  being  left  alone,  and 
you  hâve  annoyed  him  very  much,  Franky  dear,  by  your 
prolonged  absence  this  summer.     He  says  there  is  no  grati- 
tude  or  natural  feeling  left  in  fhe  world— young  men  are  ail 
sçlfish  and  headstrong  alike.     You  really  should  be  careful, 
Frank  dear,  it  will  not  do  to  arouse  hîm,  and  there  is  so 
much  at  stake.     More  than  once  haye  I  caught  him  talking 

to  Lawyer  Chapman  about  L^iurence  Longworth "^ 

««Never  mind  about  that,  mother,"  cuts  ia  Frank,  tmpa- 
tiently,  stnding  up  and  down  once  more,  "  TU  4ïiakeH»a*  aU 
light  befere  long.  I  shaU  be  home  for  good  in  less  titan  a 
fortnight  Mother,"  he  cornes  back  abrupdy  and  sits  down 
beside  her,  "  I  wish  you  would  ask  Miss  Landelle  to  go  with 
you  to  Boston." 

«  Yes,  dear  ?  "  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  interrogatively,  but  more , 
^...^acidly  if  pes^te  Aan.  before.  "  Mis»  LandeUel^  <ï  wiU  if 


you  «ay  so.    What  a  pret^y  créature  ihe  ia— tbc 
thiak  J  ever  saw." 


prêtât  r 


A 


..,^^ 


V 


\ .'.'(".  HIWi.' 


m^^ 


•#^. 


J/y  THE  GARDEN  i^ALL. 


319 


.  >  «Do  you  really?"  Frank  cries,  and  aU  his  honest  face 
flushei  and  brightens.     "Thank  you,  Iktle  mother!     Ycs, 
she  is  beautiCul  as  an  angel,  and  as  sweet  and  as  gôod.     Yon 
will  love  her,  mother;  no  one  can  know  her  and  hclp  it,  and. 
so  will  my  uncle " 

^     "Your  uncle,  Frank  dearl"  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  opening  ■ 

'"ber  innocent  little  eyes  ;  "  he  doesn't  know  her,  you  know," 
and  U^not  likely  to,  so  how  can  he,  you  know  ?  " 

Frank  laughs.  He  has  a  subtle  plan  in  his  head  of  which, 
the  trip  to  Boston  is  onïy  the  initial  step,  but  he  is  not  dis- 
^  posod  to  take  his  modier  into  his  confidence  at  présent. 
Old  Jaraaes  Longworth  is  certainly  in  the  pitiably  benighted 
State  of  not  knowing  Marie  Landelle  at  présent,  but  out  of 
that  depth  of  darkness  his  nephew  proposes  to  resçue  him.  ^ 
"  Would  she  Kke  to  corne,  do  you  think!»  "  in^nires  the 
lady.     «  I  should  like  to  take  her  very  much.  *  Th^ere  is  al- 

^a^  a  sort  of  distinction  in  chaperpning  a  newbeauty 

people  take  so  much  notice  of  one,  and  gentlemen  are  so 

■very  attentive,  and  then  I  dislike  traveling  alone.  I  shall 
be  plçased  to  take  her,  Frank,  if  you  really  think  ske  will  be 
pleased  to  go." 

^i' Mother  mine,"  Mr.  Dexter  cries  gaylyï' "  rây  convictioi^ 
is,  that  you  are,  wirhout  exception,  the  most  charming  little 
^^  woman  in  the  world  !     Liké  to  go?    I  am  certain  of  it~I  * 
hâve  it  from  her  own  lîps— I— jn  fact  I  asked  her  yesterday 
and  she  said  she  woutd  be  delighted." 

"Ohl     You  did.     WeU  then,  Franky  deaî,  nôthingW^ 
mains  but  to  obtain  ACrs.  Windsor's  consent.     I  présume  ^he 
wijlnot  object?" 

"I  4on't  see  whyshe  shouUL  You  will  put  it  to  hir, 
mother,  as  a  personal  favor  to  yourself.  Say  you  hav€  take^ 
such  a  fancy  to  Miss  Marie— whiçh  will  be  true  won't  it  i 
and  that  ^e  is  looking  pale^which  is  tme  also-^nd  need«\ 


sr Changé  •  and  that  you  will  prize  her  company  so  highly, 
and  ail  tl^at    Yo»  wiB  kno«-<  «hat  to  say— womea  alwayi 


'^ 


y 


\fXi\ 


mmmm 


inPHipniiM 


<  ■■  --^1 


i  v;.  « 


"1. 


;  ♦■v^ 


320 


S  y  THE  GARI>EN  WALl. 


do.    And,  mother,  suggest  it>]  Migs  É|indene  that  as  you  maf 
demain  a  wee)c,  and  will  bç  out  a  ^at  idéal,  shoppings  and  ^ 
making  calls  ail  day,  an,d  going  td^the^ters  and  places  in  the 
evening,  she  had  better  fetch  a  trunk."    r 

"But,  Tranky,  dear,  we  are  not  gàîi%  to  theaters  and 
\     places.    -We  shall  hâve  no  one  to  take  us:-". 

"Oh!  yes,  you  will.     You  nteed  not  say  anything  about 

it,  but  I  will  be  there.    Just  let  it  appear  in  a  vague  way 

,   V      that  youffriends, will  take  you.    The  yacht  is  to  be  launched 

'^       ^to-morrow  morning,  and  will  go  at  once  to  Boston.     I  ^all 

not  remain  to  go  in  her,  ^ut  will  follow  you  to-[^orrow  after* 

inoon  by  train^    Thén  of  course  J  can  take  you  botfi  eyery- 

where,  and  make  thïngs  pleasant  for  you  in  Boston.     And 

'  "  at  the  end  of  the  week,  when  the  yaeht  is,  ready  and  there, 

perhaps  we  can  persuade  Miss  Landellç^  to  take  a  little  trip 

with  us  to  the  Isle  of  Shoals,  and  the  coast  of  Maine,  and 

soon.    But  you  need  not  mention  this.    Just  put  your  things 

on,  iike  the  dearest  and  mpst  docile  of  little  mothers,  and 

trot  around  at  once,  and  ask  Dame  Windsor  for  the  loau  of 

her  granddaughter." 

He  lifts  her  bodily  out  Ôf  her  chair  as  thongh  she  werea 
iive  in^tead  of  fifty,  and  kisses  her.  heartily  with  a  crushing  ' 

hug.      *"-     :  ■  X 

"  Really,  Franky^dear  I  "   expostulatesthe  good  lady,  set- 
tling  her  head-dress,  "  what  a  great  boy  you  are.   Well,  as  you 
*  say,  there  is  no  time  to  lose,  so  I  will  dress  and  go  at  once. 

But  if  Mrs.  Windsor  should  say  no- — -  " 

"You  must  not  let  her  I  "  cries  Frank,  in  alafm.     "I  in-  ' 

.    sist  upon  it,  motherl    Undcr^pain  of  my  dire  and  deep 

displeasure,  do  not  take  np  for  an  answer.    I  know  how 

éloquent  you  can  be  when  you  Iike,  and  in  that  éloquence  I 

'^^lace  xAy  trust  00 w.    Put  it  to  her  strongly — as  an  immense 

Personal  favor — no  one  can  refuse  ^Mf  when  you  put  thingt 


\; 


itronglyl"  '",  '     ■ ^7  ^       ^^^- 

"  Really  I  "  says  Mrs.  Dexfer,  with  a  pleased  aimper,  **  how 


»  %*a5J 


tli*WW 


a         •  1- 


'  ^  ^^^^Wp^"' 


'*."^     j*  f  vr*«Ti^î  f    TJr 


s  y  THE  GARDEM  WALL, 


321 


a.' 


.-t"^/ 


jroa  do  go  on  !  I  cértaiply  hâve  a  command  of  kiiguage — 
that  I  hâve  always  been  told,  even  from  my  earliest  infancy, 
I  dare  say  Kirs.  Windsor  will  not  object  (or  a  week." 

•*  Say  nothiirg  pf  the  yacht  or  ôf  me,"  pursues  thii  artful 
[ilotter  ;  '*  do  not  so  niuch  as  mention  qur  names.  Now  run 
away,  madré  miû,  and  don't  .be  long.  I  will  wait  for  you 
hère." 

Mrs.  D«xter  dutifully  départs,  and  Frank  Bmilçs^fo  him- 
self  with  satisfaction  as  he  paces  up  and  down.  New  and 
strong  résolve  is  written  in  Mr.  Dexter's  ingenuous  counte- 
nance.  He  has  waited  and  been  patient  until  waiting  and 
patience  hâve  ceased  to  be  virtues.  He  will  speak,  but  not 
her0.  Marie  will  accompany  his  mother  to  Boston  ;  during 
their  stay  in  that  center  of  civilisation  and  intellect,  he  will 
dévote  himself  to  her  amusement  and  pleasure.  The  hours 
shall  fly,  wingred  with  every  new  excitenient  Then  theiie 
shall  be  a  dinner  on  board  the  yiu:ht,  in  a  cabin  fttted  up 
regardtess  of  everything  but  beautyî  luxury,  and  deli|^       V 

After  the  dinner  it  will  not  be  difficult  to  persuade  her  to  join 
in  that  charming  trial  trip  to  the  Isle  of  ^oals.  He  has 
told  her  of  the  wild  and  rugged  beauty  of  the  coast  of  Maine, 
and  she  will  brave  a  little  sea-sickness  for  the  sakt  of  the 
picturesque.  And  then  what  more  natural  than  to  persuade 
her  to  retum  with  his  mother  to  Georgia,  and  in  his  own 
"  ancestral  halls"  he  will  lay  his  haiid  and  heart  at  her  feet, 
and  implore  her  to  remain,  queen  and  îady  paramount,  in 
that  sunny,  Southern  land  forevef,  Is  she-likely  to  say  no  ? 
Is  Mrs.  Windsor  likely  to  object  ?  Frank's  face  grows  lumin- 
ous  with  love  and  delight  as  he  builds  thèse  endianting  air 
castles;  and  then,  ail  in  a  moment  there  rises.  bîefm^  hiro 
the- image  of  Durand  as  he  saw  him  last  night,  sitling  besidc 
hei^  holding  her  hands  in  his,  speaking  impassioned  words» 
gaqng  »t  her  with  impassioned  eyes,  handsome  and  picfutw 
esquela  ïfiè  most  romantic  girl's  fancy  could  désire,  în  hui ~ 
Faulkland  dress,  and  the  roseate  visions  tumble  into  the  dust. 


'M 

fi 


Sf» 


&£ 


'mmmmimmm^ 


'^^ 


i 


fe- 


■V* 


<mmximmmms;, 


mmm 


522 


Sy  IWB  €ARI>EN  WALL. 


m 

Marie  Landelle  is  jK>t  a  roroantie  ,gii:l,  he  more  than  sut- 
pecte .;  rsbe  is  too  beautifiil  herself  to  overtuuch  prize  beau^ 
in  a  man,  bttt«ven  she  cannot,be  altigether  inseifsible  to  the 
dark  charm  of  that  face.  Nothing  could  be-more  tame,  and 
^  spiritless,  and  uneraoti(Mial  than  her  rended^g  of  Julia,  ex- 
ce}^  m.  that«ne  particular  sèene  where  she  srenounces  Iiim. 
,  7}^/ she  certainly  did  with  relish.  Frank  isjèalous,  but -even 
in  bis  featonsy  \iç  ha&  to  -own  she^ves  him  tua  <:au8e.  She 
bas  avoiâed  Durand  ever  since  bis  «omiiig,  in  the  most  pro- 
nouBced  matuoer.  To  ail  outward  seeniing  Longworth  has 
muçh  more  <e9;Use  for  suspicion  than  àe  ;  and  yet,  there  is  a 
prophétie  instinct  in  love  that  tells  him  it  is  not  so/that  Du- 
rand is  Mariées  lover,  or  bas  been,  not  Reine's. 

Mis.  Deifter  ^descends,  and  Mr.  Dexter  ,clears  from  bis 
manty  brow  the  traces  of  moody  tbought,  and  «scorts  her  to 
idthin  a  short  distance  x>i  the  Stone  House.  He  letSiber 
entex  alone  ;  it  is  his  diplomatie  désire  not  to  appear  in  the 
niatter  .^t  aUl. 

"  Doa't  make  your  call  too  lopj^  luother,"  he  says,  at 
parting  ;  "  ï  will  hang  $FOund  hère  until  you  corne." 

Mrs.  Dèxter  promises,  of  course,  but  the  call  is  nearly  an 
bow  :for  aU  that,  amd  Frank  is  fuming  with  repressed  im- 
patience before  she  cornes. 

"  Wedl?  "  he  says,  feverishly,  the  instant  she  s^pears. 

"  W€ll,  dear,"  ïmswers  smiling  Mrs.  Dexter,  "it  is  ail  right 
Mrs.  Windsor  objected  a  little  at  first,  at  the  shortness  of  the 
notice,  but  she  bas  agr6ed  to  let  her  go." 
'  Her  soi^'s  face  grows  xadiant  once  môi^ 

♦'  Ah  J  I  knew  your  éloquence  would  move  a  heart  of  flint, 
little  mother.  And  Muâe— nMiss  Landelle— wdiàt  did  sht 
9a.y?"       -:■■    ■: ,  -      ■  ;,     ,.  .  :.„•■■   ■ 

-    "  Miss  lAudelle  is  a  very  quiet  young  lady,  dear;  she  nevet 
•y -ttiuch;  but  she  smiled  aad  loofcediileased.aad  said^she 


WOU0  lîke  to  vkit  Boston  very  au^da^  if  gtandoiamnia  wai 
pes&ctly'wiUing.    Soit  is  ail  setiled,  my  dear  boy,  aad  I 


Si 

■k. 


n- 


,■&.. 


-> 


BY  TffE  GdUDMN  WAkL, 


323 


r  than  sut* 
rize  beau^ 
lible  to  the 

tame,  and 
f  Julia,  ex- 
inces  liim. 
s,  but-even 
LUfle.    -She 

most  pro- 
;worth  bas 
^  there  is  a 
•,'that  Du- 

s  from  his 
arts  her  to 
[e  lets  iher 
>ear  in  the 

:  says,  at 
:." 

nearly  an 
-essed  im- 

lears. 

s  ail  right 

less  of  the 


irt  of  flint, 
X  did  she 

lètenevet 
cl  said^shA 


inuna  wat 
>jr,  «Mil 


-AI^'*''' 


eiQiect  to  enjoy  my  trip  ever  #0  œtich  more  vndi  so  c  harnv 
iqg  a  oompanion." 

"  Yes,  that  is  a  Natter  of  course.  Did— did  any  one  speak 
ofme?" 

"  Mrs.  Windsor  asked  if  you  were  to  be  of  the  party« 
and  I  «ud,  Oh,  dear,  nol  you  tv^r'n't  cQ,ming  with  nu — you 
had  to  stày  and  get  your  yacht  laimched.  I  never  made  the 
kftst  allusion  to  your  following  to-morrOw,  Frank," j(ays  his 
Riother  wtth  41  diplomatie  smile,  and  her  head  veiy  niuch  on 
one  side,  like  an  artful  little  canary.  "  I  dare  say  Miss  Marie 
will  not  Ike  JBoston  any  the  less  fpr  your  being  the  one  to 
ahttw  it  to  her  ?  "  ^ 

It  is  quite  évident,  that  as  far  as  his  mother  goes,  Frank's 
course  of  true  love  is  likely  to  run  smooth.  No  one  in  the 
woHd  is  quite  good  enough  for  her  boy,  of  course,  but  Mrs. 
Windsor's  granddaughter  approaches  as  near  her  idéal  as  it 
is  in  yoang  lady  nature  to  corne.  She  is  a  agréât  ?beauty,  she 
will  be  a  great  heiress,  her  manners  are  simply  ^rfection— 
even  old  Uncle  Longworth  can  find  no  flaw  hère.  And  Uncle 
Longworth  bas  been  heard  to  say,  he  wished  the  boy  would 
marry,  and  briqg  a,wife  hohie  before  he  died. 

Reine  is  not  at  homeduring  Mrs.  Dexter's  call,  and  when 
she  cornes  home,  an  hour  or  so  later,  is  surprised  to  find 
Marie  and  Catherine  busily  engaged  in  packing  a  trunk.  She 
pauses  in  the  doorway  to  gaze  and  wonder. 

**Whyare  you  doing  this,  Marie?  What  are  you  about 
with  that  trunk  ?    Where  are  you  going  ?  " 

"  I  do  not  think  I  will  naind  that  pink  silk,  Catherine.  I 
am  not  likely  -to  need  it  Œîî  is  it  you,  Petite — what  did  you 
say?  Ye^  I  am  packing.  I  lihink  that  wUl  do,  Catherine; 
you  may  go,  and  thanks,  very  much."  I 

The  -wil^nan  départs,  and  Marie,  on  her  knces,  rests  her 
jUBWft  fin  her  ja^^  gjgter.  , 


^*  C0Me  .îa  and  shut  the  dopr,  P«tite.     I  am 
for  a  WMdc,  ««d  oh  4  little  aûrter,  how  glad  I  am 


''W.^\ 


Mnng  away 
i  even  thaï 


/..'.■,    ■■ 


.  4. 


«!»*•■ 


A 


324 


■?=r 


BY  THE  GARDEN  WALL, 


ig!Êm, 


,?%.»«"•■ 


T 


1 


repneve.    Since  Léonce  came,  my  life  has  been  misérable; 
Togetawayevenforafew  daysis  happiness  unspeakuble.'» 
Reihe  stands  looking  at  her  without  a  word,  her  dark 
solemn  eyes  seeming  darker  and  more  solemn  even  than 
usual. 

"Why  stand  theresilent?"  Marie  goes  on,  in  a  Ift,^,  çcii. 
centrated  tone.  "  Why  do  you  not  begin  ?  Why  not  teU 
me  it  ,s  not  right,  that  it  is  my  duty  to  stay,  and  so  on  ? 
Why  do  you  staud  there  and  look  at  me  like  a  sphinx? 
Why  do  you  not  speak^K' 

«  I  hâve  nothing  to  say.     What  does  it  matter  whether  l 

«pcakoramsilent?    You  WiU  do  as  you  please.    Wherearc 
yougomg?" 

"  To  Boston." 

"Withwhom?" 

*4frs.  Dexter." 

And  as  Marie  speaks  the  name  her  lovely  upiaised  eyes 
flash  défiance.     Reine's  lip  curls.        ^       .        . 

"  Soit  /    And  with  her  son,  of  cçurse  ?  " 

"There  is  no  qf  course.     No,  we^oalone;  Mr.  Frank 
remams  to  look  after  his  yacht." 

"  When  did  Madame  Dexter  ask  you  ?  " 

"  Tbis  momrng— an  hour  ago."     . 

"  Why  diig  she  ask  you  ?  "  1 
•  «*When  did  she  ask  ypu-why  did  she  ask  you?'" 
Mane  breaks  into  one  of  her  faint  laughs.  "  You  go  on  Hke 
the  catechism,  Petite.  -  She  asked  me,  she  was  good  enough 
to  say,  because  she  had  taken  a  great  fancy  to  me,  and 
-^ught  my  companionship  would  enhance  the  pleasure  of  ' 

Zç  '"^: .  ^r'  f "*»^Si«c"»«  «"«^  ''«  «o  a* ^wo,  and  it  i. 
nalTpast  twelve  already."  ^,  ^ 

"  Marie,  I  am  not  going  to  remonstrâte—it  is  of  no  use.    / 
I^^notgotngto  tdk^^^^  <^o  ^  ^^ 


*w^^^  *^/ uik  oiimidence.  Twoqdér  jou  ue  not  afiaiC»» 
Manc  Otioirs  back  her  hcad  wititt  gesture  of  diwiain. 


^^^m.^^^^' 


\ 


1, 


misérable^ 
peakuble." 

her  dark, 
even  than 

y  not  tell 
d  so  on? 
&  sphinx  ? 

nrhether  1 
^here  are 


ised  eyes 


[r.  Frank 


you?'" 
0  on  like 
enough 
me,  and. 
uure  of 
ind  it  is 


no  use,     /" 


# 


BY  THE  GARDEN  WALL. 


325 


**Ôf  whôm?  Gf  what?  I  am  not  afraid.  There  ar^ 
some  natures  that  can  only  be  kept  in  subjection  by  letting 
them  see  we  defy  them.  Let  Lépnce  speak  if  he  dare — he 
knows  the  penalty."  > 

"  Yes,  he  knows  it  welt  ;  we  talked  it  over  last  night  ;  and, 
Marie,  there  is  that  witljin  him  of  which  I  am  afraid.*^  On 
his  guard  he  raay  be  while  you  are  hère "  ' 

"  Ah,  yes,  greatly  on  his  gu^d,"  Marie  interruptS,  with 
scorn  ;  *'as  he  «as  on  his  guard  last  night,  for  example." 

"  Last  night's  excitement  is  not  likely  to  occur  agairi.  I 
say  he  may  be  on  guard  ;  but  go,  and  with  Frank  Dexter's 
mother — to  be  joined  kiter,  ho  doubt,  by  the  son — and  I  will 
not  answer  for  ^the  conséquences.  You  know  hovir  utterly 
rcckless  he  can  be  when  ^e  likes.  I  only  say  this — take 
care  1  " 

"Thanks,  Petite;  I  shall  take  excellent  care,  be  very 
sure,"  says  Marie,  going  on  with  her  packing.  "If  Léonce 
is  incHned  to  be  unreasonable,  you  must  talk  to  him.  I 
really  require  a  c^nge  ;  I  lose  appetite  and  color  ;  his  coming 
has  worried  me  and  pfiade  me  tiérvous  ;  it  would  be  inhumanly 
selfish  iii  him  to  object  ^ut  Léonce  is  selfish  or  nothing. 
I  shall  go,  that  is  fixed  as  fate  ;  so  clear  that  overcast  face, 
little  croaker,  apd  say  no  more  about  it" 

The  look  of  décision  that  sets  sometimes  the  pretty  mouth 
and  chin  of  Marie  Landelle  sets  and  hardens  it  now.  Reine 
lopks  at  her  for  a  moment,  ttien  resoliiteljTcldses  her  lips, 
and  without  a  Word  quits  the  room. 

Still  the  sisters  part  friends.    In  her  h'eart  Reine  loves  ^ 
Marie  far  too  dearly  and  deeply  to  let  a  shadow  of  anger  oiiji^ 
reproach  mar  even  a  brief  farewell.    She  kisses  her  again'*^* 
and  again  with  a  strange  trembling  passion  of  tendemesi 
that  is  deepened  and  intensifiée!  by  some  nameless    fore< 
boding.         ,  *  — _ 


^^ 


un. 


**  I  will  ào  what  I  can,"  she  says,  "  with  Léonce.    WgiÊ 
mttch  I  shall  miss  you,  oh  t  stster  bfelôved.    Take  care,  I  00 


a- 


wjm^ 


'î&arâi^ 


«uiii 


iU^f 


iiii.iriim 


^•^^ 


336 


BY  TVB  CARDEN  WALL, 


treat,  vcA  do  a»o^,  do  aot  faU  to  return  at  tbe  «q4  af  «he 
week.    Let  nothiog  tempt  you  to  Jh^er  4oi\ger." 

"Certainly  iiot,  Petite;  why  should  I?  Jtfake  Léonce 
go  before  I  corne  hack,  if  you  can.  It  will  be  best  for  aU. 
Tell  him  I  wiU  write  to  hinn,  and  fo^ve  Ù&  coming  when  he 
iç  fairly  gone;"  *:' 

So  they  part.  Jleine  iitands  and  watches  tbe  carnage  out 
of  sight,  stïU  with  that  dnll  foireboding  inhermind  of  evil  to 
come. 

*  "  Is'she  akogether  heartless,  I  wondef  ?  "  she  thinks  in  gpite 
of  herself.  "  Nothing  good  will  come  of  tbis  joumey,  I  feel 
that.  And  last  night  Léorice  promised  to  go.  Who  ii  to 
teil  what  he  will  do  now  ?  " 

But  when,  a  few  hours  later,  as  she  walks  purposcly  in  the 

direction  of  Mrs.  Longworth's  and  meets  him,  and  tells  ^im 

in  rath«-  a  tremulôus  voice,  ie  takes  it  very  quiedy,    His 

,    dark  face  pales  a  little,  and  there  is  a  quick  ^ash  at  the  sound 

Qf  Mrs.  Dexter's  name— beyond  that  no  token  of  émotion.  , 

"  So,"  he  says,  "she  is  gonei,  and  with  Monsieur  Dexter's 
raother,  When  does  M.  Dexter  propose  joining  then?,  for 
he  is  still  hère?" 

"  Not  at  ail.  How  unkind  you  arç^,  JLéonceJ  a«  if 
Marie "  \         >         ^ 

He  smiles.  ,     /  »         ^  . 

"Marie  can  do  no  wrong— ^ou  and  I  ;ktiow  that,  Petite. 
Did  she  leave  no  message  for  mè  ?" 

•'  None— except  a  message  you  will  not  ^^are  to  hear  "  - 

"StilUwillhearit." 

"She  bade  me  leU  you,^thcn,  to  ieave  Baymouth— you 
know  why  ;  and  that  when  you  areiaiily^one  she  wiU  corr©. 
^poad  with  yoq,  «nd  try  to  forgive  you  ibr  haying  come." 

"Ahl.  fbe  will  correspond  with  me  and  Xty  to  for^e 
nie,"  repeats  Diurand,  and  laughs.     «  That  at  least  is  Jôndi 


-bttrMftrie~w 


»  an ai«ef  otïtaatiÉM ÎB ail  IKflgs.  .fesp maST" 


coadescca«io«  I  am  iiidoed  gxMafiil*** 


■^■rmmLMPf^"^  """^ 


"f-. 


BY  .T^E^ARDÉN  WALL. 


J27 


*Andyou  will  go?"      ,, 

"  No,  Petite,  I  will  not.  If  my  staying  annoys  you  I  regret 
iti  for  believe  me,  my  Utile  one,  I  ijiould  not  wilUngly  givé 
you  annoyance.  I  will  remain  untillMarie  returns— who  can 
tell  when  wemay  meet  agaii)  !  No»  until  the  grandmaumia 
dies,  ànd  tlie  future  is  secure — and  slie  looks  as  if  she  might 
live  forever,  that  stately  grandmamn^a.  I  must  speak  -one 
parting  word  to  Marie — then  indeed- 

Reine  sighs  resignedly.  It  is  of  Ao  use  çontesting  the 
point.  Durand  and  Marie  will  go  on  their  own  way  with  very 
little  heed  to  heiL„counsel. 

"You  may  as  well  say  your  parting  word  iiow,  then, 
Léonce,"  she  says  resolutçly,  "for  thisUs  the  very  last  tite- 
à  tête  we  will  hâve.  As  long  as  you  staV  in  Baymouth,  ï  shall 
remain  strictly  in'the  house.  I  should  not  hâve  met  you  to- 
day,  but  it  was  necessary  yoii  should  heair  of  Marie' s  depart- 
ure.first  from  me.  Now  I  shall  say  adiei^,  and  meet  you  no 
more." 

"M.  Longworth  commands  this ? " 

"  Thaf  is  my  aflfair.  My  grandmother  \forbid8  it,  people 
talk,  and  that  is  enough.  You  know  how  I\  abhor  everything 
clandestine.  Go  or  sUy  as  you  please,!  w^ll  trouble  myself 
about  it  no  more." 
'  "  Petite,"  he  says,  with  real  feeling,  "  ydtu  are^  my  good 
angel,  now  and  always.  ï  ought  not  to  hâve  corne.  But  I 
swear  to  you  that  when  Marie  returns  ,1  willlgo.  1  will  be 
patient  and  wait,  although  it  seems  almost  impossible,  and 
she  is  so  cold — Mon  Dieu,  so  cold.  Adieu,  n^y  little  sister, 
and  a  (housand  thanks  for  ail  your  gobdness.*' 

He  Jcisses  the  hands  he  holcb.  At  the  moiment  a  man 
passes  along  th^  opposite  sidewalk— Mr.  Longworth  on  his 
way  to  dinner.   Ntie  Ufb  his  hat,  and  passes  rapidly  on. 

Reine  flushes  with  vexation,  and  draws  away  h\er  hands. 


*.yi 


1 


"Léê^e,  wp  aft'm  the  street,  how  ioan  irou  f«^rget  your- 
iriCI   ;m.  Longworth  saw  ua."  ;     v     , 


'ik> 


ttasssBSB 


.1     ■ 


■'■.  ■*■■.-.*-:  -,  ^"-■-■i-'fi-V-^/''r*'î<S;'>-T-'.;.?f *!»■•?■ 


l^' 


328 


^*r  rj/E-  GARDEN  WALL. 


«  Well,  Petite,"  DuranJ  ^s,  coolly,  Vand  what  then>  *K 
•brother  may  kiss  his  sisteryKand.  Mr.  Longworth  is  on  hîs 
way  to  dinner  and  \#Ml  favor  me  with  more  languid  grande 
seigneur  airs  than^cvet^  He  doès  me  the  honor  to  be  jealous, 
Reine.  Ma  foi  /.  I  app^ar  to  be  a  cause  of  jealousy  .to  more 
than  one  gentleman,  in  yourlittle  country  town."     * 

Reine  leaves  him  at^uptly,  and  goes  home,  feeling  vexecl 
with  Léonce  for  his  salute,  with  Longworth  for  having  seén 
it,  with  Marie  for  her  departure,  with  herself  for  no  particular 
reason,  with  ail  the  world.  in  fact.  "  But  she  is  too  gênerons 
a»d  frank-hearted  for  rao<^ds  and  fancies,  and  sits  do\<rn  to  the 
piano  and  plays  away  her  vap^rs,  Presetjtly  it  grows  too  dark, 
and  then  she  rises,  takes  a  shawl,  and  hurries  awày  to  her 
favorite  twîlight  seat,  on  the  ga/den  wall.  .^ 

Shè  sits  a  very  long  time,  her  hands  clasped  in  her'lap,  her 
,eyes  fixed  dreâ^ily  on  the  water,  and  tlîinks.  Five  inonths 
scarcely  hâve  pa^sed  sjnce  she  came  to  this  place,  and  how 
rouch  has  happened,  more  than  in  ail  her  life  before.  She 
was  uhhappy  at  first,  but  that  has  worn  away.  .  Léonce  frets 
her;  but  that  is  only  a  passing  annoyancé,  nothing  deep. 
A  subtla  senie  of  happiness  has  come  to  her  of  late  ;  she  ac- 
cepts  it  without  carin^  to  analyze  its  nature  too  closely. 
Her  grandmother  has  grown  more  kind  and  tolérant  since 
her  engageihent— perhaps  it  is  that  She  likes  Miss  Hariott, 
more  than  likes  her  ;  it  is  always  good,  and  restfui,  and  com- 
fortable  to  b^  with  her.  A  real  woman  friehd  is  sucH  a  true 
and  satisfactory  thing.  She  likes  Baymouth-iduU  but  riot 
dreary,  monotonous  but  riot  wearisome.  Andi  then  there  is 
Mr.  Longworth — she  pauses  in  Her  musing  witn  a  sraile  and 
a  feint  blush.  Yes,  there  is  always  Mr.  Longwpdb-  It 
is  well,  after  ail,  to  hâve  one's  future  liusband  tjhosen  for  one 
—one  can  take  him  Wi  ieel  that  self-will  and  sentiment — 
dangerous  thinjgs 


eertain^y  it  is  well— they  minage  thèse  things  best  in  Trance, 
there  cao^be  no  doubt,  ^JMr.  Lotgworth  is  very  good — he  il 


'83» 


.  ,f 


I  \  -•^»»i'M"î?ft^^iWfS;if#if'.^S%3¥"'"ï'.*^ 


i 


BY  THE  GARDEN  WALL. 


329 


a  husband  'one  c^n  be  prpud  of,  he  bas  a  gjcnerous  and  noble 
heart,  he  is  not  mercenary  or  he  would  be  Madame  Wîndsor's 

^heir  to^ay,  and  she  and  h&r  sister  toiling  in  I^ondon  for  a 
^nty  living.  How  very  handsoine  ànd  gallant  he  looked 
laîi|t  ntght  in  the  scarlet  and  gold  of  an  English  otiicer. 

yes,  decidedly  he  is  handsome,  and  of  fine  présence— élever  . 
too,  which  is  best  of  àll — man  is  nothfng  if  not  intellectual. 
Ifdoes  hot  so  much  signify  in  wornèni^ — it  is  not  expeéted  of 
them  ;  people  who  ought  to  knov^  say  they  are  better  without 
too  much  inind,  but  men— oh  1  a  maii  should  be  strong  and 
brave,  gentle  ànd  tender,  upright,  genérous,  and  tnte  of  heart. 
AU  this  M.  Longworth  is,  she  knows  ;  has  she  not  had  proof 
of  it  ?     How  grateful,  for  example,  is.  that  blind  girl  ;    how^ 

"  well  Miss  Hariott  likes  him — Miss  Hariott,  incapable  of  lik-j 
ing  anything  selfish,  or  sordid,  or  mean.  How  her  haaghty 
grandmother  seeks  and  respects  his  Qpinion-^her  proud,  im- 
perious  grandmother  who  tolérâtes  no  advice  nor  interférence 
from  any  one  else.  How  strange  that  he  should  ever  hâve 
had  a  grande  pas^on  for  that  passée  Madame  Sheldon.'  I)o 
men  really  outlive  and^orget  such  things  as  that?  He  has 
^old  her  he  loves,  her,  and  he  is  a  man  of  truth.  That  faint 
fiush  rises  again  as  she  récalls  his  looks,  his  words,  the  fire  in 
thé  eyes  that  hâve  gazed  on  her.  They  are  extreme}y 
hands6me  é^es,  and  perhaps  most  handsome  when  anger  as 
well  as  love  flashes  from  them.  If  she  could  only  tell  him 
ail— but  for  the  présent  that  is  hopeless,  and  he  has  promised 
to  trust.her.  What  is  affection  without  trust,  firm  abiding 
faith  and  trust  through  ail  thii^  He  musf  wait  yet  a  little 
longer,  and  believe;  in  lier  despite  appêarances,  and  mean»  . 
time  she  is  happy  and  Ba)rmouth  is  pleasant;  and  .eighteen  a 
delightful  âge,  and  love-^— Well,  love,  of  course,  "  the  verjr 
best  thing  in  ail  the  world." 
-She  wra[^  her  ilhawl  a  little  ctoser  around  4i«r^  fi»  the— — 


September  nights  hâve  a  ring  of  fthlirpness,  and  watcties  a 
l^slated  moon  making  its  way  through'- windy  clouds  up  to  î^ 


^^JSf^*«0.f 


y?- 


•^». 


itlu.'lfeS.     L?' 


WPJU.iii'.i'ii» 


-*.. r- 


330 


BY  THE  GAitI>EN  WALL. 


I 

1 


1   '  I 


tlw  centre  of  the  sky.  Mooolight  is  a  lovely  thing— th« 
world  takes  a  toucb  of  sadDess  under  its  pale  cold  gliramer, 
hfe  and  its  noises  are  hushed,  and  the  soûl  awakes  instinct- 
ively  to  tbe  feeling  that  human  life  is  not  ail,  and  that  great 
and  solemn  things  are  written  in  that  star-studded  sky.  But 
-Reme  is  neidier  lonely  nor  sad,  ail  her  presentiments  and  vex- 
ations  are  gone  «rith  that  dead  day,  and  she  sings  as  she  sit». 
And  presently  a  step— a  step  she  knows— conies  dowa  the 
path  behind  her  ;  but,  though  a  new  gladness  comes  intoher 
eyes,  she  does  not  look  round,  but  sings  softly  on  : 

"  Oh  I  moonlight  deep  and  tender 

This  sweetèst  summer  flown,  -  * 

Your  mist  of  golden  splendor  "* 

On  ottr  betfothal  shooe." 

The  step  ceases,  he  is  beside  her  ;  be  has  lïeard  her  song 
but  he  does  not  speak.  She  turns  and  boks  up,  and  to  the 
day  of  her  death  never  forg«ts  the  look  his  face  wears.  The 
sjnile  fades  froM  her  lips,  the  gladness  irora  her  eyes  ;  her 
singing  ceases,  she  sits  erect  and  gazes  at  him  iri  con^ma- 
tion.  ^y^ 

"  What  is  it  ?  "  she  asks,  with  a  gasp. 

"  Veiy  little,"  he  answers.  His  voice  is  low  and  ster§ 
bis  /ace  fixed  and  inflexible.  "  Veiy  little,  perhapsrin  your 
eyes.     Only  this— I  overheard  you  last  night." 

For  a  moment  she  does  not  know  what  he  means-^en  it 
flashes  upon  her,  and  her  face  blanches. 

"  You  mean — -  »  she  says,  in  a  terrified  voicç. 

"  I  mean  your  interview  with  Monsieur  Léonce  Durand, 
kl  Miss  Hariott'sgardfin  last  iMght  I  did  not  go  out  eaves- 
dropping,  I  went  out  honestly  enough  to  smoke,  but  I 
chançed  to  overhear.  I  héard  him  daim  '.he  right  to  be  with 
you.    I  heard  him  call  you  his  wife  1  " 


oo^iers  h^  face. 


*  t. 


•vtî;' 


'Si. 


;  <m- 


BY  TH£  GAROBM  WALL. 


331 


f  D^ii't  be  afraid,"  he  says,  a  louçh  of  scorn  in  his  tone  ; 
"I  ani  6dt  going  to  hurt  you^  "  I  am  not  even  going  to  re- 
prôa<^  you.  There  is  not  much  to  be  said  betureen  >ou  and 
me  ;  but,  great  Heaven  I  how  I  hâve  been  deceived  in  you  I 
I  stand  and  look  at  you  and  aia  stunned  by  it.  I  thought  1 
knew  something  of  women  and  naen  ;  I  thought  in  my  be- 
sotted  self-conceit  I  could  read  the  soûl  in  the  face.  I  looked 
in  yours  that  day  on  thie  deck  of  the  ship  and  thoi^htj^saw 
a  brave,  frank,  fearl^s  heart,  shiningout  of  tender,  and  truth- 
fui,  andbeautiful  eyls.     And  the  end  is  this  !"         s 

She  does  not  spe^k  a  word.  She  sits  like  one  stunned  by 
a  blow,  so  sudden,  so  cruel,  so  crushing,  that  it  deadens  feel- 
îng  and  speech. 

"  Your  motive  for  what  you  hâve  done,"  he  goes  rapidly 
on,  "is  not  so  difficult  to  understand.  You  knew  that  what- 
ever  shadow  of  chance  you  stood  unmarried,  you  stood  00 
shadow  of  chance  married,  and  married  to  a  Frenchman. 
You  were  natorally  ambitious  to  obtain  your  rightful  inheri^ 
tance,  and  for  the  sake  of  that  inherUançe  you  hâve  plotted, 
and  schemed,  andduped  us^alL  You  played  your  part  as 
Lydla  Languish  very  well  last  night,  but  you  shine  far  more 
briiltantly  off  die  stage  than  on.  You  knew  how  to  make 
your  perversity  charming,  your  pétulance  bewitching  ;  your 
very  prtde  and  défiance  hel^a  curious  charm.  You  kept  me 
off,  and  ^Surtbat  in  doing  il  you  lured  me  on.  You  were 
the  farth^  possible  frora  any  ïdeal  womai^  and  yet  you  cap- 
tivated  me  with  your  veiy  faults.  I  believed  in  you  with  as 
trusting  a  siu^Ucity  as  the  rawest  and  most  unlicked  cub  of 
tweaty.  I  was  ail  the  naore  eager  to  win  you  because  you 
seemed  so  hard  to  wiii.  It  «ras  a  wreUnixlayed'  garae  ;  but 
your  husband,  with  a  man's  natural  impatience  for  his  wife, 
cornes  beforè  your  plans  are  matured,  and  ^poils  aU.  Once 
•^^^^^  *  !!!!gffM  4Çfig^y^  g»et  »  gkiyoMnger  f  uai^  than  you  ; 


but  I  «ras  a  Jbot4ieaded  boy  theA,  zxtà  Jier-  task  was  easy. 
Nbw^  in  nan's  naatunty,  with  the  aveca^e  of  ooan's  judgaoni 


là 

tUkttm 


J  Y 


t\r. 


tfî       *■       t     ,,     , 


332 


NIGHTPALL. 


in  most  thîngs,  you  hâve  donc  it  again,  with  a  skill  and  clev. 
crness  no  oiie  can  admire  more  than  I  do.  I^ura  ^^ng- 
worth  was  only  weak  and  empty-headed  ;  you  are  heaitless, 
treacherous,  and  false  to  the  core !" 

She  has  not  spolœn  or  stirred— he  hasgiven  her  no  chance 
to  speak  ;  but  if  he  had,  it  would  hâve  been  the  same.  If 
her  life  were  the  forfeit,  she  could  not  save  it  ^y  uttéring  a 
Sound.  He  tums,  with  thèse  last  harsh  and  merdless  words, 
and  so  leaves  her.  ^ 

I 


!     i 


\c-.\ 


CHANTER  XXIV.  "  . 

NIGHTFALL. 

BLEAK  aftfernoon   early  in^October.     In    Mrs. 
Windsor's  pretty  sitting-room  a  fire  blirns  cozily,  and 
casts  its  red  gleams  between  the  crinison  silk  win 
dpvy  curtains.     In  a  great  arm-chair  before  this  fire,  wrapped- 
m  a  large  fleecy  white  shawl,  Mrs.  Windsor  sits.    A  smaU 
table,  with  a  pitcher  of  steaming  and  fragrant  lemonade  is  be- 
side  her— a  tumbler  is  in  her  hand,  and  she  sips  this  beverage 
at  intervais,  as  she  lies  back  and  contemplâtes  drearily  the 
fire.     In  a  général  way  this  Udy  is  uplifted  out  of  the  spherj 
of  ordinary  mortals,  but  influenza  is  a  dread  leveler,  and  i„- 
fluenza  has  laid  its  fell  hand  upon  her.     Still  an  emprea 
might  Suffer  with  cold  in  her  impérial  head,  and  the  snuffles 
in  her  august  nose,  and  Ipse  no  whît  of  her  niajesty.     We  do 
not  say  that  Mrs.  Windsor  does  anything  so  vulgar  as  snuffle  ; 
we  do  say  she  is  invalided  with  côld  in  her  head. 
She  is  not  alone;  hér  younger  granddaughter  is  sitting 
•  by  the  window  looking  out  with  eyes  more  dreary  than  her 
grandmother's  own,  at  the  gray,  fast-drifting,  fast-darkenîng 


skf,  at  th€  wind-Tôssed  treeà,  and  the  threatcninè  ôf  storm 
at  hand    It  is  not  owing  to  any  spécial  pleasoïc  Mrs.  Wind- 


;^^^^.!iTî»«»-nw»»r 


^!!^Sh*Ti" 


~ 


■y  ■• 


■■•/".^  IffA' 


'J-S- 


^* 


NIGHTPALL. 


333 


■or  takes  in  her  younger  granddaughter's  society  that  she 
has'her  hère  ;  but  the  cold  in  her  head,  and  the  perfect  tem- 
pest  of  sneezes  that  now  and  then  convulsé  her,  hâve  flown 
to  her  visual  organs.  With  eyes  weak  and  watering  one 
cannot  amuse  one's  self  with  a  book,  and  ta  sit  hère  ail  day 
atone,  and  unable  to  read,  is  not  to  be  thought  of.  Reine 
then  is  hère  to  read  to  her.  The  book  is  a  novel,  and  an 
interesting  one,  but  it  lies  closed  in  Reine's-  lap  novv. 
Grandmamma  had  had  sufficient  unto  the  day  of  fiction,  and 
the  sorrows  of  heroes  and  heroines  ;  vexations  of  her  own 
are  beginning  to  absorb  her. 

"That  wikdo,"  she  says,  pettishiy.;  "thèse  books  are  ail 
alike.  Love^must  hâve  been  inventéd  for  the  pecuniary 
benefit  of  thç  people  who  write  nôvels.  Ring  for  Jane  ;  this 
lemonade  is  cold."  ' 

pleine  rises  and  obeys.  The  bleak  light  of  the  overcast 
afternoon  ialls  fuU  -  upon  her  face  as  she  does  so,  and  Mrs. 
Windsor  is  struck  by  the  change  in  if.  More  than  once 
during  the  past  week  that  change  has  surprised  her.  A 
great  change  is  there,  but  it  is  so  subtle  she  can  hardly  tell 
in  what  it  consista.  It  can  hardly  be  loss  of  color,  for  Reine 
never  has  color — it  is  more  that  her  dusk  complexion  looks 
blanched.  It  is  still  more  the  dreary,  lonely  look  in  the. 
large  eyes,  the  curve  of  the  mouth  fixed  in  a  sort  of  steadiVt 
patient  pain.  She  does  not  sing,  she  does  not  play,  she 
does  not  talk,  shê  does  not  smile.  She  never  goes  out,  she 
loses  flesh  and  appetite  daily,  she  cocpes  slo^ly  when  she 
is  bidden,  and  goes  wearily  when  she  is  dismissed»  with  little 
more  of  vitality  than  an  automaton  might  show. 

"  Reine,*',  her  grandmother  says,  and  says  it  not  unkimdly, 

yet  with  more  of  curiosity  than  kindness,'  '*^hat  is  the  inat- 

ter  with  you  ?    You  go  gUding  about  the  house  like  sonae 

jmgll  gray  ghost  Atft  yott  not  jrell  ?  " 


"  I  am  very  well,  madame^" 
.Sic  résumes  her  seat     Jane,^appears  ^ith  a  fresh  and 


\ 


^'^rf 


^.- 


mil»  w|iii»ijwi  vrmxfuiiifmiii 


'■mÊÊAmmnr 


/''• 


334 


iriGHTFALL, 


f 


1 

\ 


Bteaming  pitcher  ofîemonade,  and  départs.  Theyotrag  girl 
h'stlessly  takes  up  her  book. 

"  Shall  I  go  on,  madame  ?" 

"No,  l'm  tired  of  it;  paying  attention  makcs  my  head 
ache.  But  you  ^nay  as  well  remain.  I  exp^îct  »  person 
who  owes  m«  a  sum  of  money  j  hc  mil  be  hère  dirtctly, 
and  he  wiU  want  you  to  write  him  a  receipt  Stay  untti  he 
cornes." 

She  leans  back  and  closes  her  eyes.    She  is  a  trifle  curions 
stiH  concerning  the  change  in  her  granddaughter,  but  sh« 
wiUmquire  no  further.     Can  it  be  her  sistei's  absence? 
Nonsense  f  they  seem  fond  of  càch  other;  but  ^o  fret  ovbr  a 
week's  séparation  would  be  ricHculous  indeed.     The  house 
seéms  desolate  without  Marie's  fair,  bright  face— she  is  aston- 
ished  and  vexed  at  the.  way  she  misses  her.     Then  Loag^ 
werth  is  absent  too,  has  been  absent  for  five  days,  and,  what 
is  remarkaWe,  was  writh  Reine  in  the  garden  the  night  before 
his  departure,  and  yet  left  withoiit  stepping  in.     That  is  not 
Uke   Laurence.     She  opens  her  eyes  and  glances  at   th« 
motionless  gray  figure  at  the  windoïr.  ^ 

"Reine," 

"  Yes,  madame." 

"  Did  Laurence  Longworth  tell  you  that  night  last  week^ 
where  he  was  going  next  moratag  ?  " 

"  He  did  not,  madame." 

"  Did  he  tell  you  he  was  going  at  al!  ?;  V 
,    "No,  madame.* 

"Didhenotevenbidyini  ^ispAby?"  '    §* 

"  Not  even  thst" 

"Gurious!"  s^s  Mri  Windsor,  and  knits  her  brows. 
"  Why  then  did  he  corne  f    What  êid  he  say  ?  " 

"  I  caooot  remeraber  afl  fie  said^  madame.  Cettainly  not 
»  ^9rd  about  going  away  the  next  momtngA 


,    Mrs7  vymasor  furns  upoïia^a  keen,  Selong,  suspicious 
look,    She  »  an  odd  mixture  of  franknes»  ami  retieence, 


m^, 


ta-- 


^ii|i'.-'nM'    ^'l'g 


f*  ':4*:»#:ï*^-r,-'^"'*-.«l":'' 


to  be  silène,  i.  will  be  a IfflculfL^"*?  ?  ""'"'"<' 
her  to  »p«k.     One  nf  l  ^  ^  '"''"''  •»  '"<'"ce 

"pon  her  „o„.  ^"  """  ""«-'  "'°«'»  "  «videmly 

on.7".ri'n.Ï'L7e;^7„V'''  ■""-     "'  «-."«Ht 
roung  w„„a„  i,  no. .  .tllariLT.'"''^-    ^"*  *" 

<^«  tre*:r::^:rrf  *"-"'™-'«- 

that  never  leaves  M,,  wf- ,    5         '^*-      "  »  »  book 

pondérons  ra«^aX°*eBr^*  "'?  ""'^'^^  "•" 
iK  owner.     I,  is  a  codv  of  .h  '  u  .     .       '  "  "''"^  "'*"«'  ""y 

.nd.on  ,he  %-lei  in  a t«  Z"rr'   ''"'"*"^  "»""* 
7     «,  in  a  large  fr^  hand,  is  written  : 


"TotheBestofJVIothers 
Son» 


Birthday.     From  her  ^ectionate 
Georg».'» 


brS:  tt:T.:^r.t  'ro^enti/d  r  "'^i:? 

.  «Pwk  ;  Ihe  liandsome  clever  hiS^T^  ^  "  ""'"^ 

|ov.d  wi.h  au  .he  C  ontl^^af^Chelrir '"■*""- 
is  more  to  her  .♦.ii  a       "^*"  <^«»^  neld,  whose  memory 

wdw^;^:;^,':::::!*^;^^".;,^  sj«  •«- 

"T;  *ewondeni  if  George  Winr»  ^5        '""'»'  "<^'»- 
«nhap»^„rjr       °°'  """«a'alwy.  afling  and 
descibed  ^.In  "l^d  in'  Z^  T/t:;'^'  ^  "^^  •*» 


1»^ 


WK:>i  iV  ;&< 


% 


y 


^y^ 


.<■*>  * 


'È4^ 


She  opens  the  book  at  rapdo-     t^^^^^^  ^^^ 

tfiechaptercalled    IheiwaB 

and  Reine  begins  to  r^ad.  ^  ^^^er  times  thou  ^ 

ever  aï<»d  ?  " , .  .H*/k&s  the  book,  replaces  it, 

Shé  c«.  read  no  ^]^^^  her  face  down  «po» 

,     folds  het  arms  on  th.  ^^¥^^  ^  ,„ffer  tribnlation  «ih- 

.^  .. ..  For  God  «««^  *^u.  by  tribolation."   Y... 

.  ^  comfort,and  beco^»°'«_;"T  and  »<«-«»'«'*■  »"*  "' 
;î.    Ohlyes.she^.a»^enP^°»^»"*He,pridei.Kam- 

Uons.  »d»''\r  .Thl^n  ..abbed  to  the  heart  » 
bled  to  flie  venr^ûs^  *e  has  b«n^  ^^^^  ^^  ,„  «m- 
îhe  hP«r  of  her«exultanon.    «h^  ^  ,„  begmnmg 

L  to  hold  «  dear  ;  she  «  d"^  "^  ,(,.  „ost  wished  to. 
lô^seek  fo'  W^"*-»""": '^r^;,^^  Lonprorth-he  h- 

be  highl,  held.  »«  âtt  t  ^e.  ^  «"■'"  "°*  "r! 
acted  bastily  .nd  «sHy  ;  ri»  *«^  ;,„,^„.  ,„  «k  «»t 
«plained  if  he  had*ome  >»  <»™  ^aïe  overhearf.    1» 

"^Unation.     Ho«  strang.  >.* jh^Od.-^   sh.doe.notbl«ne 
Jre  a  fau,  a  Nemeas.  "» J-'^^f  ;,„.™b.d.  lel>  strandrf 
-^V3HeonM^.^^;;^^^,„ne.^^ 


ta.T»heonlyfeeU^u^«d.^»n^^^^  ft»»''^,*^ 

on  «Mn.  barren  rock,  the  l»»»  »  P     ^  ,^  ,„d  lonelineM 

jorevcrwithher.    913^"/  V 


^t^>  ^  J0 


:.#.. 


VJOBTFAU.. 


337 


«"d  Ii.4ed  It~^^  ■""  »'  "*  hidden  face, 

She  has  noe  once  sfoil  ÔûtsMe  Z     T"-', ""'«O'  «ends. 
ï»r  broken  engagemen,      wT    ,  *■"  '»"'  "o'Wng  of 

'^ut.«herg,rdjth;;,rru.ur%rr' '"''='■« 

what  the  result  wfll  be,  she  d«r„l,  '  '''"'  ■""  "">»• 

-^PPenthanhash  ppe„^°^^,:^^-«-    NoU.u.g  ,orse 
-SheUesstUlforalonttime     «h- 7'    ■ 
««h^  and  in  Ae  silencefand  ta™*  !!",.    "'  ""^  ''"''  '"' 

her  mto  «rakefiilness.    /he  J,  „„  •  u       '"'"^'•door  startiea 

"  VVelI,  ma'am."  sav«j  Jr  a#    .•     . 
I  »■".  up  to  ,i„  ;  a*^?  1;  ^f-  -  »  hearty  voice,  «  hère 

Fifteenhundredand^;  0,1  Tl^' ÎT  "^  "«  "»"• 
«■"•'it?    Heré^.,hecafhW;*f' .*"*"•»"'«' ""»•>»•. 

-dS:;:::.'î^^tiss^''*=°-^ 

Reine  obers     SHa  'cccipt, 

"AndwhenyouVe^oSfekt  «««  "  the  key." 

W^.  Martin,   4h  refrc^l  "  "P;  ^°"»«  «-dy."  inJpose» 

hsterday,  and  she  did't  Wa  «1      ï*^  **!  '"''  «'''^'  ^^'^^ 
■do  now.»  'f^*  *  °"te  paler  doing  it  than  you 


U 


MM«'K.  ï^,» 


ri"'' 


««■IIII..I  III  in  .m  .!iii|.i 


•aHC 


338 


mGHTFALL. 


«' Yes,  go,'  her  grandmother  says,  coldly.  and  lookmg  an- 
noyed  ;  "  the  beat  of  this  room  makcsyou  look  wretchedly. 
Lock  the  cabinet  and  leave  the  key  on  my  dressing^able 

'.  Av  ay,  look  ont  for  the  key,"  says  bluflf  Mr.  Martin  , 
«  can  i  be  too  particular  about  money.  .Ifs  à  sight  easier  to 
lose  always  than  to  find.  Nobody  hadn't  ought  tokeep  money 
m  the  house  anybow."  , 

-Thereisnot  the  slightest  danger,"  answers  Mrs.  Wnd- 

«,r,  still  very  coldly  ;  "burglars  are  almost  ""1"""™  "J»'': 
moirth,  and  I  keep  no_one  in  w  house  whose  honesty  I 
cannotimplicitly  trust."  ,„  i,„  ™nd. 

Reine  leave»  the  foom  and  goes  slowly  to  her  grand- 
mother's  b^-chaniber.  The  cabinet  mentioned  is  a  frail, 
r.  «ry  hanWe  Japanese  affjir  of  ebony.  -1-;^».*  peart 
and  silver.  She  places  the  roU  of  notes  in  one  of  the  drawera. 
S  it.  and  lays  the  key  as  directed.  on  the  ^-.ng-uWe^ 
As  she  descends  the  stairs  again,  she  encounters  Catherine 

'^*Fol'yo:;  Miss  R^ine,"  the  woman  says,  and  hands  i.  .0 
her     "  Law!  miss,  how  white  yo«  do  look.  Qmte  faïuty-hke, 

'  ^rRanetnlra-^ltll  favoHte  of  the  householdno. 
Time  haa  tôld,and  though  Miss  LandeUe  .s  as  lavshiof 
^«.  Ils  and  gentle  words  as  ever,  it  bas  been  d>scoWed 
tot  h^  L  seWsh  and  exacting,  and  not  ai  aU  l>»"'c«la." 
ZZ.  much  or  how  little  trouble  she  may  g.v.  those  ^o 

"Tste '^.t  even  pu.  on  her  own  dothes,  she's  thath^p- 
less,"  says  Catherine,  indignantly,  «nor  so  much  «  butwn 
to  shoes  or  her  gloves  ;  but,  if.  please,  Catherine,  hete.  and 
^antrcatherin.,  there.  Catherine,  do  this,  and  Cathenn^j^ 
H^'hat.  and  C«herioe.  go  to-tother,  .rom  mon.mg^..n 


ri5^tir,don-.mind,ble»yo».W.(«nsheag.;.uKU 
«d  brings  you  »p  two  «igAt.  to  ^  you  where's  the  ,«n. 


'  *  1  ^>jfiS 


':,'<lÈMM-i'- 


t,  ''■*'"  Î'*J 


,  ,v. 


)ftén  sheTmgsiïerb^- 


ffiGHTFALL, 


bair  looks,  or  her  overskirt  sets     It  Ho  •.    • 

k«o«r.    But  Miss  Reine  can'^^  th'll  f     f  ''^  '^«^'  ^°" 

things,  and  has  a  little  fedL      5   ^     °'  ^^"^^^'  »"d  fi„d 

_      ^e  wanted  sboner   han  ^T' t"!  7"^'  '°  ^"^^^  ^^-^ 

got  right  do.„.    Miss  MaS^wX  1'  "'  •'"""  '^'°^^  ^O" 

fiweet,  I  don't  deny,  and  never  ^sT.        ^'"^"'"'  ""^  ^«"''-^ 

MissReineform/UerS'     °''""^''''"^g^--»« 

**  Chârb  Petite  •— wi.-,„  Boston  Oct  %A  ia_ 

Pany  that  it  wo«ld  be  cruel  tT^S^t^^  ^''^"^^'y  ^ô'  «y  com. 

Shoals,  and  wiU  look  atsomecoLT^e*';^^     We  visit  the  Isle  o7 
more   ha„  a  week,  for  I  know.  mlt^^f,  S'*^'*  '*^^  "°*  P^-'^Wy 

close  of  this  excursion,  for  Mrs   nl^^       *  .'''*"  «-etumevenat  the 
ady)^d  «yself  to  ac^o^^yh^l" "If .'-;''  ^'^  ^(thc  Boston 

B-conse„ted,andMr.irtl     stu^^^^^^^  Miss  Lee 

hope  she  „ay  say  ye.,  fo,  j  Ou^ll  rlZZ  >  ^'^'''°*""»»  ^^  me.    I 

^nnothing  by  renJlninrV^Uv  Ï  ""  v '°  ^°-  «« -i"  certain  y 
fit.   Adieu,  Petite.    WithTour  d^o^  mÎT  ^  '^" '«^"^^ '^  y»'»  «^ 

«oe.  to  Georgia,  ^      "  ^^' ^^^  *^  ^<"y  miss,  evenif  she 

The  Uh^,  a  .  "^onrowu   ^  Marie.»» 


«Ml  I  teU  Wonce  S^^'  "^  "^  '^^ «•  Wl  01^  ho. 


» 


^' 


-S». 


*       -* 


»v* 


340 


^i?^ 


NIGttTFALL. 


Asifher  thought  had  evoked  him,  she  sfee?  throiigh  the 
trees,  stripped  and  wind-blown,  Durand  hiniselfftpïWroaching 
the  gâte  at  thë  moment  Can  hç  be  cOmin^Tn?  Sbe  rises, 
and  runs  down  the  path,  and  meets  him  justes  he  layshis 
liand  on  the  gâte. 

"I  could  endure  it  no  longer,"  he  say»  ;  "  I  made  up  my 
Vmind  to  brave  the  dragon,  and  go  to  the  house  to  seeyou. 
For  a  week  1  hâve  been  waiting  and  looking  for  you  in  vam.  .> 
Where  hâve  you  been?— what  is  the  matter?    Yo»^  look 
wretc^ed,  Petite  ;  hâve  you  been  m  ?  " 

She  does  not  answer.  She  stands  looking  at  him.  the 
closed  gâte  between,  hfer  face  grayish  p^le  in  the  duU  even- 
ing  light,  blank  terror  looking  at  him  out  of  her  eyes. 

"  Is  it  f  nything  abput  Marie  ?  "  he  demands,  quickly  ;  "  is 
she  coming  back  ?  'Hâve  you  heard  frpm  her?.  is  that  a  let- 
ter?    Leimeseeit." 
'^^   He  rèàches  over  and  takes  it  out  of  her  hand  before  she 

can  preverit  it,      ' 

"Léonce,"  she  exclaims  in  a  terrified  voice,  "let  me  tell 
yoUfirsL  Do  not  read  the  letter.  .Ohl  Léonce,  do  not  be 
àngry  with  her  I    Indeed,  indeed  she  means  no  harm.* 

He  turns  from  her,  and  reads  the  letter  slowly,  finishes, 
and  teads  it  again.  The  afternoon4ias  worn  to  evening,  and 
it  is  nearly  dark  now,  but  Reine  can  see  the  look  of  deadly 
pallor  she.  knows  only  too  well  blanch  his  face,  se^s  a  gleam 
dark  and  fierce,  and  well  remembered,  corne  into  his  eyes. 
But  his  manner  does  not  change  ;  he  turns  to  her,  quietly, 
and.hands  it  back. 

**  Allons  /  '•  he  says,  "  so  she  has  gone.  Well,  I  am  not 
surprised  >  I  half  expected  as  much  from  the  firsl.  If  she 
6nds  the  South  pleasant,  as  how  can  she  otherwise  m  the 
jociety  of  M.  Dexter,  it  is  probable  she  will  not  retum  fot 


~~lBe  wînlèr.  "Shelikes  waimtb  ;"7€n:0*^^  niucn 

^better  thaa  Baymouth  and  a  long  nôrthcm  wintcr."  •       «^ 

"Léonce — -"  ^^         ^  .  '  '' 


t    •• 


4 

#"'4 


i    ♦'.* 


'  .MSiwiji' 


?.^pi 


'■Si* 


■\ 


hand  before  she 


# 


ffIGHTFALL, 


H 


341 

**  You  are  not  lookini?  wâl  P*.h>i"k    •'. 
..     M.  Longworth  is  away      hI1\k  *»«  «'«"iipts,  «and 

:   .theother?-  ^'     "^  '^^  <>»«  anything  to  do  with 

**Listeii,  Léonce •• 

happy. .    I  think  too  thàf  iwr    t  ^^"  J^**"  *f«  "<>' 

fear.  j.d  .he„  for  ,„„  /^„  ^'=„„'tl,t«''  Î  w^^l-rf 
yon,  lietle  one,  lest  the  terrible  .r^L  I  wiU  not  detaiç  . 

a-d -k. ,  .to™.  ^;^:r:e".::::'5^'"*'*'  r  ^  - 

Reine  bows^rtV     A«T '"'"  '°<*«i  "  "P ?U  «fe  ?  " 

«ightorp„«„,;X.rie^;:.*'  <^'"'  -^«^^ 

of  the  m<,„r    NohljA''  ^"^  ï«»  »"«  «refti  »P«km 


?*■  I 


7' 


.'•X 


I  *3 

<1 


^   '^«iV  T  ^y^-^TVJ    'T  W~-SJ1^^*'^*'l 


•5f 


.•1 


349 


iU^HtPALLi 


'  *'A  large  sura  ?  "    . 

^*  Fifteen  hundred  dollars." 

"^I  wish  I  ^ad  it,"  Durand  says,  with  a  short  laugh,  "1 
went  to  Monaco  before  I  came  to  America,  and. won  enôiigh 
to  keep  me  ever  since.  But  I  am  a  beggar  once  more,  find 
Af onaco  is  inconveniently  far  ofF.*' 

"  I  can  lend  you,  Léonce,"  Reine  ^ys  eagerly,  taking 
eut  her  purse.  "  Madanie  Windsor  paid  me  my  quarterly— 
how  shall  I  «ail  it  P-r-sâlary  allowance  yesterday.  I  do  not 
waiit  it-— pray  take  it."  j/     ' 

r  Thanks,  Petite — ^it  is  like  you  ;  but  no,  I  will  not  '  take 
it  l  Keep  it  for  your  poçr  onés.  The  terrible  grandmamma 
is  libéral  at  least,  is  she  ?  "    " 

"  Most  libéral  indeed,  if  money  were  ail."    ' 

"  I  wonder  she  likes  to  keep  such  large  sums  inthe,hope. 
It  is  rather  lonely  hère,  too."  \  • 

"  She  does  "not  think  fifteen  hundred  dollars  a  large  sum. 
She  generally  keeps  enough  for  the  qurrent  expenses  of 
each  month  in  her  room,  and  there  are  no  robbers  in  Bay- 
mouth."  I 

Durand's  eyes  lift  and  fix  for  ai  moment  on  the  room  that 
is  grandmamma's.  He  knows  iti  for  Reine  once  pointed  it 
out,  and  her  own,  and  Marie's.     1 

"  But  tell  me  of  yourself,"  she\  says.  "  Oh  !  Léonce,  do 
not  follpw  Marie.  You  may  trust  her  indeed.  She  is  angry 
wiÉi  you,  but  she  cares  nothing  for  Frank  Dexter.  It  is  be- 
cause  she  is  angry  that  she  goes.  You  knôw  Mape — she  is 
not  éasily  aroused — ^it  is  the  s^veetest  temper  ir»  the  world  j 
but  wA^»  aroused "  ' 

«'Implacable — do  I  not  know  it?  How  am  ï  to  foUow. 
her? — she  gives  no  address  and  I  hâve  no  money.  I  must 
go  to-New  York  and  join  my  people  ;  the  opéra  season  ap« 
uroaches.    Hâve  no  fears  for  me,  tifamour—take  care^ 


fourself.     Tell  M.  Longworth  ;  it  will  be  best.' 
■  'SI  cannot.    I  hâve  promised  Marie." 


Vjç 


Ô-atu~  C-dji-S^ 


short  laugh,  "  I 


ums  inthe.hopse. 


V-  V 


^IGffTFALL, 


'  "l'-'f.  .. 


343 


■"«•     You  love  her  weÏto  lov-  .""  "■"  '"'  J"»"'  "^««ve 

love  Aiscold,  s,«„%,rd  mLI jr  ''"*r'-<'°  ^»- 
-  She  ,„™s  her  face  from  ^^Z^2'^^"'''■  " 
«es  a  spasm  otpai^„oss  it        ^^      «'"aming,  and  hg. 
"  Ah  J  r  T  '^'^ 

he  ha,  w„^"peti.eTatg2l''T:''" '''''"'  «""«'M 

we  may  meet  again  ?    Zi,*?^"  """^  *''"  »■"!  how 

;;^;Kive  yot  «;  b^Aer""      """  "*  "''■■'«  '  8°"     ■ 

you'S^hStroVbfe"' Alnh"^*'  ~r  '  "*"  ''"»'«^' 
«»  and  retum  „o  mofe  :  li  t  ^"*  ^  "=*"  ""ke  i/,, 
Petite  Reine,  adien  p''  ""  '  ""*'  »""-«>«  I  s^ear  1 

*■       " Léonce  1  Léonce!"  sh.»     •       •  '^ 

.  something.    Oh  I  what  is  i.?^'"'  '"  *"  '«°"''  "  J"»"  »?» 

^Jin,eann„.hi„g,dear  Petite.  b„.<à„.e.L    Once  „o„.      " 

fisl'„tl[S,"""^H^'f'  "-er  '"''"•^""■•a'French      ' 

'^i-*  ■•»  his  face,  in  t  eyesTî^Lr  f  "'  '^"=*  »">- 
(emïyher.  "    ^^'' "  ""'"««k  »«  her.  chill  and 

-dwa.che«th..,^btiletret«rr-     '^"»<'' 
and  IS  gone.  ^  ^  """'  ^e  turns  the  corner 

The  dârkness  has  fallen  •  she  1«.       '■ 
•me.  ho^  bleaJdy  cold  itls'     A  h    ^"^T''  ^°^  '^"^  ««' 
^«^r.  a  few  drops  of  rain  fall  Lm  .h  *^    ""'"^  ^'"""P'  ^«"«d 


4* 


M. 


Liï'v. 


,  *  '    ^v.-^_^5.^|^^_-^^  fi,f{-. 


•mimn-m^mmmm 


•w? 


"'il>«ââM*M! 


344 


rWO  /y  THE  MORNINi 


h. 


(  CHAPTERXXV. 

TWO   IN  THE   MORNING.  -- 

1rs.  WINDSOR'S  influenza  is  worse,  Reine  di», 
covers,  when  she  re-enters  the  parlor,  and  Mrs. 
^mm^  Windsor's  tempe;:  suffers  in  proportion.  The  par- 
oxysms  of  sneezing  are  incesS!mt  now  ;  there.  appears  to  he 
nothing  for  it  but  bçd  betimes,  a  mustard  foot-bàth,  warm 
gruel,  and  a  fresh  supply  of  hot  lenionade.  AU  thèse  rem- 
édies, with  the  help  eC  Jane  and  Catherine,  are  attainable. 
The  lady  is  helped  to  her  chamber,  is  placed  in  bed,  the 
night-light  tumed  dôwn  to  a  minute  point,  the  door  is  closcd, 
and  she  is  left  to  repose. 

,  Reine  returtré^below.  It  is  barely  eight  o'clock,  and  there 
is  a  long  evenlng  before  her.  Hqw^hall  she  spend  it?  If 
she  wereâri  the  mood  for  music,  music  is  ont  of  the  question, 
with  grandmauima  invalided  above.  There  are  books,  but 
she  reads  a  great  deal,  and  even  books  grow  wearisome.  "  Of 
the  making  of  many  books  there  is  no  end,  and  much  learn- 
ing  is  a  weariness  of  the  flesh.»  Everything  is  a  wearirtess  ; 
thère  are  good  things  in  the  world,  but  they  do  not  last— 
nothing  lasts  but  the  disappointments,  the  sin,  the  suffering, 
the  heart-break.     They  go  on  forever. 

ShaH  she  go  and  see  Miss  Hariott  !  Catherine  nas  just 
informed  her  that  Candace  bas  infonned  her  that  Miss 
Hariolt  has  returned.  She  has  missed  her  friend  unutterably, 
her  strong  common  sensé,  her  quick,  ever-ready  sympathy 
for  ail  troubles,  great  atid  little.    Her  tioubles  are  not  little, 

keine  thinks  ;  thçy  are  verï^at  and  real,  and  even  Miss 


Hafiott  is  powferiess  tojxîîp  fier.    Stiïï,  if  wilTbé  sôftîStRîi 
cply  to  look  into  her*^rave,  frank  <jye8,  to  feel  the  stroni^ 


ïïpr 


,    i     . 

.'/■;/ 

j 

*  '■ 


\  • 


-!.^  I  1 


TtVO  llf  THE  MORNtNG,  '     345 

gets  her  waterproof  and  rubbers.  duUs  th.  h  ^  ^       !  * 

«  es,  xviiss  Hariott  is  at  home  •  rh.  i;,rk<.  r        l        .  • 
«rreams  forth  cheerily  into  the  bleak,  wet  /itreef       K-- ' 

fetch  mï    '  ?^  ^°''™*"'  ^^"^*"^'  ^°°''  «^ancl  talking  there  * 
fetch  me  my  letters  instaiitly  "  *      ^  ' 

pounn  rain.    Lor,  chile,  how  wet  you  i^  !» 
"She  did  natJetme.    She 


"  "S  -J 


^^^^^^^^  "  ■"  -  ''^  "^«fc  '°'<t  -^ 

«  Yo.-„  .  .eU.,i„ed  liWe  «ùn^  a»d  like  ,o  !*«  ^ 

■     ,  -f  ^-      »  ^.    '  .  "■,■.-»  t 


f  ■  *^i.'^^?fi%*f".™^ 


i»<.i.i.,r.i|  i[pjynji|iiiif.iiij»nyi 


I  -  ■  ■ 


346 


"•WQJN  THE  MORNWG, 


own  wicked  way.  Sit  dbwn  herc  and  put  your  feet  to  the 
fire.  This  isLany's  chair,  but  you  may  hâve  it  ;  it  is  ail  one 
riow.  He  is  away,  Marie  is  away,  grandmamma'  is.  in  bed, 
and  ail  the  .catf  ,being  out  of,  «ight,  this  misbehaved  mouse 
does  as  she  likes  wîih  impunity.  Now,  chlld,  it  does  me 
good  to  sit  and  look  at  yoii.  What  a  little  dear  you  are  to 
come  and  see  me.so  soon..    Hâve  you  really  missed  me  ?" 

"  Mot-e  than  I  can  say,  madame.  ït  has  been  the  longest 
and  loneliest  week  I  ever  spent  in  my  life." 

"  Well,  that  is  natural  enoug'h.  Your  sister  is  gone,  and 
you  are  wo|iderfully  fond  of  that  pretty  sister  ;  Longworth  is 
gone,  and  you  are  wouderfuHy — ^no,  I  won't  say  it  Has 
a^ybody  else  gone  ?  '-'  ,  ^ 

■    "Somebody  is  going/'  Reine  says,  drearîly  ;  "he  came  to 
say  good-by,  pbor  fellow,  just  at  nightfall." 

"  You  mean  that  handsome  little  Monsieur  Durand.  Well 
-^I  ought  to  be  sorry  because  you  are  sorry  ;  but  to  tell  the 
truth,  I  am^t." 

"  You  ddn't  like  Léonce — poor  Léonce  !    And  yet  I  do 

not  see  why.     He  has  his  faults,  màny  and  great,  but  he  ts 

so  gentle,  $o  tender-hearted,  so  really  good  in  spite  of  alL 

•  And  you  kijiow^  nothing  of  him — why  should  you  dislike  hira, 

l^issHaridtt?"  ' 

"  1  db  not  dislike  him.  I  do  not  like  him.  I  do  not  trust 
~*him.  Youlowt  him,  little  Queen,  very  dearly," 
;  "Love  Léonce!  "she  repéats  dreamily,  "Yes;  I  cah 
recall  no  time  when  I  did  not  love  Léonce.  I  was  such  a 
little  créature  when  I  went  to  Rouen^— mamma  was  always 
ailing,  and|  she  said  I  tormented  her,  and  Aunt  Denise/ so 
gentle  and  50  good  to  every  one,  took  me  home.  Léonce 
was  a  little  fellow  then,  such  a  pretty  boy,  so  gay,  so  loving, 
80  good  to  me.  We  grew  up  together  there,  in  the  dear  old 
^owsie,  we  jwent  wandering  tOj;et^her  thyoi^^  the  dear  old 


town,  we  ejxplôred  ail  thé  beautiful  churches,  and  iife  waf 
like  onç  long»  sunny  summer  day.    There  ne*.«er  was  any  one 


]-:-^  "n*;^^s4>  '  ''"T^'^^^-^d 


I  do  not  trust 


V'W- 


TIVO  /A   Tlfff  MORNING. 


Iv 


«"  cold,  and  cheerles»,  and  dark  »„ï^  w    T"         ^"''°"  ' 
m    Norn,andy_my    d^™^,*'^    '  ■*."  """'=^  «f'" 

^y;hose  vi..  P™..an.     Ho.  we^pT^d^PS:. 

"  Marie  I  "  MissLHariott  says,  skenficallv^    «ïh    •   .    /,:  .  ' 
and.  interested  :  the  «ri  hk*  „  ^*^P^  W    She  is  tou^hed 
u  u  *         »  "  "*^  never  spoken  lik<»  *vx/^(  u 

old  home  or  friends  befor*. .  k.,*   u  •  •  ^  °^  ^^' 

*e  .ea„  of  «.e  :,t'M°;:;L:<£î.  ■  ""' ^"•^'«' '" -«P' 
'        "Do  you  think  Marie  did  not  kno«r  and  ca«  for  h,„  ... 

but  in  «,e  «gt^f  a'dl'J.^rs^ J'Y: 'r '^'"^  «'"<"  ' 

•uear  child— -somest?"     .^    .  :,  * 

"Sony,  sony,  sorry  to  the  heart  f    ni,  i  a  »,    •    . 
listcn«i  u>  «./«.dTtayed  in  I^Jdo^f  w  *?'™  ^^  "»'    - 
there,  «re  could  hâve  St^iT^  \\  ^'  ''""'  P^P'" 
««d  independently.  but  Z^  wX","'',  T  " "'"  "" 

«  rL    .!.•  .      .      ^™  *""  «"«^  «'iMtd  ta  corne  1  " 
.Reme,  th..  „  «cked,  m  h  unpatefal,  Uù  iT 


■-^l^r*! 


/ 


« 


:• 


»fti8  what  I  ncver  expécted  to  hear  from  you.    At  finit  I 

grant  you,  when  ail  wcre  strangers ^«^    ' 

^«And  what  are  they  now?     What  friend  bave  I  but 

"  Yoii  have^ur  grandmother,  who  is  good  to  you  aftcr 
lier  fanion.    You  have  a  safe  and secure  home •»    ' 

«tbâVe  a  houae  to  live  in.    But  a  home  l~ah  I  four  walli 
aw  not  enough  for  that.     Our  heart  mâkes  our  home  " 
X,  "And,"  pursues  the  elder  lady,  «you  hâve  the  man  you 
arè^rtg  to  marry »  '  ' 

^^L^^^  v^^^^'  ^""^  *"^  '^''^'  ^^''  Th«  warmth 
wh.ch  the  fife^ight  and  Candàce's  tea  hâve  brought  into  her 
face,  dies  slowly^oi^.     **  .  ® 

"  Say  ijo  more,"  sfieiîiterposes.     «  Ves,  I  am  unkind  and 
ungratefuL»  But  when  I  tUnk  of  tjie  past,  and  the  old  home 
lost  forever,  of  my  beloved  I^ce,  which  I  will  never  see 
again.     I  forget  to  be  grateful.     Heay^n  is  good.  but  life  is 
»o  long-so  long,  and  things  happen  tha^are  so  hard  to  bear. 
I  try  not  to  think,  l  try  not  to  go  back  to  the  life  that  is 
gone,  but  sometimes  I  sit,  and  this^lull  town  and  thèse  quiet  < 
streets  fade  away,  and  I  am  in  the  old  garden  on  the  hill  jusit 
above  Rouen,  and  the  grapes  and  apricots  shine  on  the 
white,  sunny  wall,  and  old  Jeannethon  is  gathering  vege- 
tobles.m  the  kitchea  garden,  and  Aunt  Denise  is  knitting 
In  the  porch,  and  Léonce  coniès  up,  àinging  as  he  come^ 
and  then-I  wake  with  a  start,  and  it  is  in  Baymouth,  not 
Rouen,   Massachusetts,  not  Nornôandy,  Madame  Windsor 
not  Aunt  Denise,  and  Léonce-oh  1  yes,  Léonce  is  heré,  but 
not  the  Léonce  of  those  days.     Nine  J  "  She  rises  abruptly. 
How  long  1  hâve  stayed,  and  howmuch  I  hâve  talked  I    Did 
I  cver  talk  so  mucbbeforét" 

^  «Neverl    Little  QueeV  \fiss  Hariott  answçrs,    « Déar 
Little  Queen,  you  are  not  looking  well.    YouaiVpaWawl 


<( 


Whrtt.is  the  trouble  ?  ^ 


Nothing  you  eau  hclp-notl|i^  I  do  not  de»erve~    I 


m:  . 


A 


ou.    At  firat,  I 

ad  hâve  I  but 

od  to  you  after 

-ah  I  fourwails 

ur  homie." 

5  the  man  you 

The  warnith 
rought  into  her 

tin  unkind  ftnd 
ï  the  old  home 
will  never  see 
ood,  but  lifeis 
3  hard  to  bear. 
the  life  that  is 
nd  thèse  quiet  ^ 
)n  the  hill  just 
^ine  on  the 
Lthering  vege- 
se  is.knitting 
as  he   coiues, 
Jayiiïouth,  not 
imé  Windsor, 
»is  heré,  but 
ises  abruptiy. 
talked  !    Did 


rexs,     "; 


arVpale  and 


t  desenre*^  f; 


t 


A 


^lika 


'  'Î^'-J^ 


\a: 


i  > 


■ïr*i^'V,T 


X  could  help  you.  I  I^r^l^  ï'  '"^^  "  *^"'-  ^  *i»h 
Xour  feiiy  godmother,  yd^^K"*!"  ^°"  ^^P**^*  ^  *"» 
•'«'ay.goes  for  help  to  hM^^S^  ^  ""^«  prim*»» 

"î>earJ/yPrraw^,ther^a^^'    u 
You  yfcif^  helped  me.    Oidy^ST ?     *  'î'*^  fi^triother. 

"  And  you  will  rpfiir«  »«  •  «cip. 

And  I„i.fc  ;^  J^/;^,  ?^ jo''"  "»  ^k  of  hi,„.  p,e.„.     ' 
Bue  Mij8  H.„„«  J^       .      "P""  »™<l'ng  CiBdace  " 

«oW™ca«le:  JXlr^c^^^^T^f 'M'..<aadslite„me       ' 
ftateven  Undace^^T^- '^  *«  «"'«  "«'«  <»«ag.,   . 
favor.  •  ''«'^  "  "*  «y«  of  dism.,.  .«dX  * 

and  me,  honey.»  "^""»  3™"  Wongwl  to  Mi»  H«to 
fcf%  op,««d  „d  iS^t^'?J^"'"?R"«. 


s'* 


^ 


%  Si 


'^7'' 


r 

h 


■MM 


mm 


•         \         1 


350 


TfV0  m  .THE  MOHNING. 


room.  How  silent  the  ôld  house  îs,  such  a  lotiesome,  ram. 
bling  old  house  for  four  women  to  occupy.^  She  opens  her 
grandmother's  door  noiselessly;  the  night  llght  bnrns  ditnly, 
the  night  drinkas  on  a  stand  by  the  bedside.  Mrs.  Windsor 
is  deeply  asleep.  She  shuts  the  door,  and  returfts  to  her  own- 
room,  ^hich  is  directly  «ppoilte.  Shè  can  hear  rain  beat-^ 
ing  agàinst  the  glass,  the  wind  making  a  dull,  ceaseléss  surge 
among  the  trees,  and  farther  ofF,  mingling  with  both,  the 

,  deeper  and  more  awful  voice  of  the  océan.  What  a  wild 
night  it  is  !  She  WondCTs  with  a  shiver  of  appréhension  if 
Marie  is  tossing  about  in  the  frail  yacht  along  the  rock-bound 
coast  of  Maine.  Hov^  miserably  ill  she  will  be,  and  Marie 
abhors  illness,  and  pain,  and  annoyance  of  any  kind,  and 
shrinks  froni  the  very  shadow  of  Hfe's  lightest  trouble. 

'♦  If  I  could  only  help  her,"  Reine  thinks,  "  I  would  take 
hor  share  and  my  own  too.  But  I  cannot.  Imay  suffer  for 
her,  but  she  must  suffer  for  herself  as  well.  Oh  !  if  Léonce 
foUows  her  I  and  in  his  face  this  evening  I  saw  the  foreshad- 
owing  of  some  desperate  résolve.  She  will  never  yield  — 
she  is  inexorable  as  fate,  and  he  is  passionate,  and  jeal- 
ous,  and  reckless.  The  truth  will  corne  out,  and  al}  she 
desires  most  on  carth  will  be  |pst  forëver.  And  then—what 
then?"  ;  „    ' 

She  sits  down,  her  hes^%esting  weariljr  against  the^.back 
of  the  chair,  silent  and  motionless,  for  a  long  time.  Het 
head  aches — or  is  it  only  her  heart  ?  A  sensé  of  forehcding 
fiUs  her  ;  but,  Sranger  than  ail,  a  sensé  of  fatigue  weighs  her 
down.  She  rises  presently,  as  the  loud-voiced  clock  in  the 
hall  strikes  tip»  and  ^slowly  and  wearily  prépares  for  bed. 
Perhaps  that  whispered  prayer  for  strength,  for  the  doing  of 
"  ta  volonti  suprêmii^p  Dieu  noire  père  I"  is  faint^nd  tired,  ? 
but  it  is  i|eartf(#i,  and  sha  goes  to  bed.  Her  heavy  eyelids 
sway  and  faU  almost  ini»diàtely,  and  she  is  half  asleep  be- 

-  xorc  ncr  ncAu- W-W€U -Ofi^^wc  DilioWi   --©iwic  siicstarts'svwco"" 


again  at  some  noise|  but  iti|oniy  Jane  aad  Catherine  going 


.;jt' 


^^mikc 


i  lotiesome,  ram. 
5  She  opens  her 
ght  burns  ditnly, 
Mrs.  Windsor 
turfts  to  her  own- 
hear  rain  beat- 
,  ceaseléss  surge 
5  with  both,  the 
i.  What  a  wild 
appréhension  if 
5  the  rock-bound 
1  be,  and  Marie 
f  any  kind,  and 
t  trouble. 
,  "  I  would  take 

I  may  suffer  for 
Oh  !  if  Léonce 

aw  the  foreshad- 

II  never  yield  — 
onate,  and  jeal- 
>ut,  and  ail  she 

V*'   , 

And  then — what 

Vf 

igainst  the^.back 
ong  time.  Her 
se  of  forehq^ing 
tigue  weighs  her 
:ed  dock  in  the 
repares  for  bed. 
for  the  doing  of 
s  faint,|^nd  tired,  ^ 
er  heavy  eyelids 
s  half  asieep  bè- 


éft 


awake  ~ 


startï^ 
Catherine  going 


il  '         . 

rff'é  hr  TffE  AfORNII^G.  35, 

op  to  thcir  bedrooms  In  fh«  a  .. 

«.•Un«s  ans,  aad  iSlu  tj,.     "^T    '^''^  Çî*"°d 

broad  awake  in  f„  Xrhr^  "",  ^  **^'=  ="<"""ly. 

and  .i,s  upright  i„  bJ     Wh«  '""?'*""«  '■""  »'"'  ^i 

,.        old  eighr.day'c,„ck  %Z^^    Thé,"      '"""  °"'^  '"^ 

moves  the  quiveri„„  X  h  7       ,         '"'  ""■>■  "bration  yet 

of  mortal  pain  „r  fcT  ^  hTT^  I^"P'  »""''«".  Piereing  0^, 

.besi,s„p'erec.i„  ÏUneitL  r''  "''■""'''^''^  " 
•     bear  nothing  else     Th.  rT  f  ^"^  *  '"°'»™'  «be  <:an 

The  very  rain  ha,  Xed  Lh  "  P™''»''»'"/  sriU. 

fied  face.    She  can  K      ,  "'  "P"»  ■>"  "«te,  terri. 

-:credttlfc^~     Ha.rer4=- 

sick  »on,an  ro^n  !or^"„  ^^  •'!'"'^°'''  ™°-»-     «as  the 

Jn^tently  Reine  fo^tlf  h?*  '  *""'=*"'<'  ""'for  belp?      , 
'-bhng  ange.":;!  Lgtr '  %^^'  "erself  j:h 
'nto  little  velvet  slinn^r,  „  [  *  ""■"'"  ber  fect 

looks  acroilf  tJ^raT'thT'     '•'""  "'""""  "°'«.  and 
toes  towards  if  tfacksi  1  TT"  """•     ^ben  she  tip. 

shihesthrough'C.eanlAttd'"''^  **  '""  ««^' 
whatislhatl    Who  is  in  ,1,.  ^    ?' ^'^ ^'""^  Heaven  I 

-."nd  of  stealthy   Xl^e,  For'bereisasound-the 

knows  t  ail— robber»  .r-  .."  ,  \  °  '"  '  *'oond  she 
™rderer,it  JTyt  :;"!"°*.'«'>'»^  *«  closed  door, 
«rickwshriek  *rdea1i.  Î""'~*'"°"'"'"<1  horror. 


i.|#i.i&..'Jl    ,jl^^.j^^     "'..^^^^à    V  *  *• 


•ï'iÈi/ 


h    a 


^^iméiimmm 


352 


Tf^O  IN  THE  MORNmo. 


she  holds  to  it  wiéh  both  hands  to  kecp  from  falling.    The 
floor  seems  toheave  beneath  her  feet,  and  without  sound  or 
Word  she  smks  upon  it,  and  half  lies,  half  crouches,  in  a 
i  heap.     One  or  two  broad  rays  of  œoonlight  gleani  fitfully  into 
the  dark  hall,  but  where  she. bas  fallen  is  in  deqwst  gloom 
So  crouchiîïg,  she  strains  every  nerve  to  listen.    She  feels  rfb 
.  sensé  of  faintness  ;  eveiy  faculty  seems  preternaturally  shar- 
pened.    Thegratingkçyhasevidentlynotfittcd;  she  hearsthe 
«harp,  metallic  sound  of  Steel  instruments  at  work.    Tick,  tick,' 
click,  she  canhear,  too,  from  the  clock  downstairs— how  weird- 
ly  loud  is  the  beating  of  its  brazen  puise  ;  k  seems  to  dromi 
even  the  hornd  click  of  those  tools  that  are  forcing  the  locks  ' 
Then  there  is  an  interval— an  hour  it  seéms-^ne  minute 
perhaps,  m  reality,  and  then-K)h  Heaven  !  the  door  slowly 
and  sofily  opçns,  a  white  hand  stretches  forth,  and  «o  holds 
it  one  hstemng  second.     Her  dilating  eyes  are  fixed  on  that 
hand  ;  surely  the  gleam  of  the  large,  flashing  ring  it  wears  is 
&miliar  to  her.     A  stealthy  step  follows,  then  the  thief  stands 
on  the  threshold  and  casts  one  quick  glance  up  and  down  the 
hall.     She  crouches  not  three  feet  from  where  he  stands,  but 
he  only  looks  before  him,  and  sees  nothing.     She  sees  him 
however;  the  pallid  gleam  of  the  moonlight  falls  full  on  his 
face.     He  crosses  the  hall  rapidly  and  noiseîessly,  turns  down 
the  stairs  and  disappears. 

Oné;  two,  three,  four,  five,  six;  lying  there  in  the  cWll  gai- 
lery,  Reme  count^the  sonorous  ticking  of  the  noisy  Dutch 
dock;  or  perhaps  it  is  not  the  clock  so  much  as  the  sicken 
/îngheavy  throbs  of  her  own  heart  She  counts  on  and  on  • 
it  seems  to  her  Is  if  it  must  continue  forever,  as  if  she  must 
sit  Mdled  hère  in  the  darkness  and  cold,  and  the  minutes 
of  this  ghastly  night  go  on  etemally.  Hours  seem  to  pass, 
and  then,  ail  at  once,  with  a  mighty,  rushing  sound,  the  dock 
stnkes  three.  , 

Sha  apfings  m  hei  feet,  tlie  speil  b  b^ken,  and  almost' 
•creams  aloud,  so  jarring,  lo  discordant  seem  the  strokea  to 


^  < 


.^' 


.  '.-i.-  n .  *Mit 


'  Û>9^%  k 


(       rnro  m  tve  uoRNmc.  ^    j;^ 

done,  and  at  once,  but  what  ^!,„   T^'    Something  nmst  bs 

«onw  fearfui  sight  on  the  WA  T  T  '  ^^  ^"  ■*"  "n 

"owly,  wi.h  wide^tlrinreTe,  i;  T*  '"  "  """■=•  ">«» 

.    *-wbenl,,okediS#rïïirr"''"«''''^ 
pee,  the  drawers  of  the  Ta„,„~       .  ™*"  ^«)^  ''«  <">  the  car- 

'ake,  in  at  the  Z  riLl?  T      ,'"'!  ''»"''<'?'"-«'«  she 
eye,  tum  to  the  bed      n^'k,  "™  "'""'y  and  reluctantly  her  / 

-er.     M„.  wfnS  l,e?thte  h^î:^  "«",'  "^  '"'"-  "«•• 
br^H.i„g  deep  and  beav,.  ti:;"nt:C  "'  ''"''  "" 

The  révulsion  of  feeline  is  sn  „..» 
Reine  drops  into  the  nlrestch^f^ 'r  """""»•"=•  *'' 

falU  heavil,  agains.  ,h,  chair^t^bu^^^tE    '^'^  "'*' 
reclly,  sits.  np,  and  no*  for  ,he  first'ril  h      '^    *'"""*  *' 

«f  soniething  tha.  has  hi.her.™èd|l,   """"■"""'''"' 
fills  the  rooni,  a  faint.  swee     f.!^  ^  ™"'""  ™«» 

^'-a.^verinha.edi.^::^^"^,'^^^^"-     '•" 
lymg  on  the  breast  of  the  s  eeuin/  '         **  '  'P°"S« 

tWng  to  be  there  I  "^  ^  """^^    *^'  «  '«rioiu 

.Pongehasbee:^  r^aSh^'T  '"-'-•>'-*;.  " 
l»s  never  inhaled  il  before  1^1?  \  ""^  '"•°'"^t«'     ' 

.  «»  a  rpsû  of  ûesh,  pu^c  air,  her^cxf  "i 


w 


^' 


"W!- 


"'!!i"l"i  J  ". 


354 


i^ 


ANOTHER  DAY. 


to  put  the  sponge  and  scattered  keys  in  her  pocket  In  a 
very  few  minutes  the  atmosphère  is  again  endurable,  and  th« 
oppression  that  seems  to.overpower  Mrs.  VVindsor's  slupber 
is  gone.  Therè  is  no  need  td  Unger  longer,  She  closes  tht 
wmdow,  moves  the  sleeper  gifntly  into  an  easier  position  ;  ' 
then  she  leaves  the  chamber,  shut&  the  door,  andgoes  bacH 
to  her  oWn.       ■  ^  #  i 

She  does  not  return  to  bed  ;  she  sinks  down  on  her  knees  i 
by  the  bedside,  agony  in  the  uptume^  face,  agony  beyond  ail 
telhng  in  4he  desolate  heart.     She  has  but  one  cry,  and  it 
ascends,  strong  enough.in  its  anguish  to  pierce  heaven  :-    ^  * 

"  Hâve  mercy  on  hira  !     Oh,  God,  hâve  mercy  on  him  1  "  ^ 


I 


■  ►««*»■'■ 


f. 


/ 


CHAPTER  XXVI. 

"^    ANOTHER    DAY. 


|R.  LONGWORTH  retums  to  Baymouth  very  early 
in  the  afternoon  of  the  day  following  that  stormy 
Octobèr  nighL  The  storm  has  nof  interfered 
with  his  joumey  ;  he  has  slèpt  ail  night  in  a  palace  car,  lulled 
by  tl^e  rocking  motion  and  the  beating  of  the  rain  on  the 
glas-w  Yl'i  hastens  to  his  boarding-house  at  once,  finJs  him- 
self  m  tirjc  for  luncheon,  and  also  for  the  dish  of  gossip 
daily  ser/'.d  up  with  that  midday  réfection. 

"  m.fx.  Marie  Landelle  is  away  with  the  Dexters,  mothei 
and  8<wi^~has  Spent  a  wtek  with  them  in  Boston,  and  is 
cruisii)/,  About  now  upon  the.  high  seas  in  her  namesake,  the 
Mane.  A,  pleasant  night  théy  raust  hâve  had  of  it,  too  ;  it 
18  to  be  hoped  Mr.  Frank  has  secured  a  compétent  skipper, 
and  pilot,  and  crew.    His  affair  may  bé  looked  upon  as  set- 


ttedr- 


f "di^-Mf.  Ff i^, 


-^^^  ..       -  ',     »      o» »,  prospccSve  possessoi 

of  a  pnncely  fortune  and  a  peerless  wife,"    This  says  Un 


■'*'iii''^^j 


/•kiejiki  '  »."A»i*à«*5j*»j--»r^|,^ 


lercy  on  hiinl" 


m 


,l,ïJV'ir*^"  v 


ANOTHER  DAY. 


rK 


^ons.  Léonce  DuraS'^.,^,^.  ^f  ^  ^^-  ^«^^«ith. 


-^^Vfons.  Léonce  Durand  h^^     '"  "^^'  «^^«  Mrs.  .Beckmth. 

hi»of  been  in  aU  nighf  ^ t j  ^ ^'  ?  *«  Mr.:Wr,»,d 

Ur.  Long.„„h  ZZ  loi  t.d    ?„?  "'  t""-    ^"  *" 

the«  peopfe  he  is  don/foreve.  A  s  ™  tr"~"'* 
aga.nst  Reine  6Ils  him;  intense  scOTn  t  k  ?/'  ""«" 
«ith  it.     How  easy  a  dupe  she  h'f      .  u  ""^'^  """s!" 

you  wi.h  open  and  felrie,;  te""  whiî  '""'  '^"  """^  '^' 
and  s"Rivers,  had  yet  taken  thif    ',  '"""«"Ce  shrinks 

sight  ^ndfilenirove-;"*  ho':  T"  "''■'*"  "'■""^'l'" 
tha.  fiJnk  and  feârlesls^'le  m  k"'  ""^  '^"  "f^ 
New  York  Wporeer  T.  h^f  '         '''  '"  '"'  «l«"ence  as 

n.urdere.Ja'^r  ^^JT  t'  '°  '"'  ""- ' 
«"ort  in  his  heart  neL  1  .n,«  7""^"'  ""^  '"'(' 

A.d  this  is  h„„  he  hl"         rX  S  e  r  "i'"".^'"'^' 
-d  aughed  a.  hi,n.  and  fro™  4  .^'^^  olit      v1 
She  has  looked  up  wiu,  û,„se  tn.^f„,  eye^Td  U^TMl"^ 
In  the  first  hourS  of  his  passion  1,1        ,  f^     '" '" '''P»-) 
-en  killed  sùch  women  bu.  "hat  fs  aiTl  «""""-'"'oJ 
,ka™ed  his  lesson,and  lel!S    t  J^,^"'  ""^     "'  H 
«orseofaUwomenforthesakroAhr'         ,     "  """■=  *« 
«nger  fiiUhi»  ;  be  wou, W  i'fiiri.  s^::::' h'^""^'^ 
save  her  from  «jeath     Th,  mS         l     ^  •  '  '°  '"'"•'  'P 
children  to  perish  nthjGan       rV"*  '="=  ""  ^'"4 


sayjHL 


plus  fen.ale  child™  bomfato  â^ZS^"""'  °'"'""'- 


everyyearweremade 


#^ 


«..•s  -  ' 


»i*(î«f,-,#»Mi:3' .  .»"■ , 


■h 


m 


AN^TffER  l^m 

.  The  "  edit<è  of  -the  Me^^pi^'^^ 
raineiitly  suited  to  tafliA^jt^^n^my  ôf 
>   with  »n%n^|5lai^hteii^  ^r. 


the  Ql|ice 

■not  offiée 
•aiid's,"  he  says.     "May  I 

V-. 

^uikMÉ^^--W^::^  ^-T^     say»    O'Sulliyan,    wii^à  "grin. 

•  \  '^T^^^  '^T""  ^^'^  ""^^'^S  at  ^ix-h<^Rected 

."W  *^™  ^«  çonductor  ;  and  who  does  he  se^mping 

aboî^>it  our  frifehd  Robert  fhe  Devit     He  was%ut  aU 

"u    ."^'"^*'"^*  youmay  talce  yotjF^ath-faith,  ifs  fee  of 

.^ehontable  profession  of  bla^egs  he  is.  or  l'm  mistaken 

■    îvT  .  *^^  ^"^^  th^/captivating.  Léonce,  ald  if  s 

wahy  s  the  dry  eyè  he  l^aVès  behihd  him  1  "    , 

>  LongWorth   passes  on,  se^i  himself   at  his   desk*  and'- 
.,    -:Pf"seswrthloweringbrowMMày'sscat 
SW.       ;  rhen  he  draws  a  sheet  of  paper  before  him,  dips  his  pen 
^  '^    , .  :  viciously  m  the  inkstand;^  and  is  fairly  immersed  in  his  con- 
-       «Çnialtasjc,  whenatapatthedborinterruptsWm. 
'    X  *^^5v-"  ^^  '  ®°"*^  ^°  *"^  ^  hanged  td  you  !  " 

,^>  "Sure  it's  not  me^hie/;"  says  the  depreca%\bnes  of 
,  his  second  ;  "  if«  oée  of  Ml^s.  Windsor*,  women.     She's  be- 
low,  ànd  she  w^s  ye." 

"  What  does  "she  w^nt  ?_  Scnd  her  hère," 

.    Catherine  enters.  her  fece  pafe,  her.mânner  flu 
eyes  excited.  ^t 

"  Oh  I  Mr.  Loi^^Ui,  please,  sir,  sutb  a 
Misàes  is  al^ost  i«Si»ed,  a»d  we  don'tnon 
wfiat  to  doC     Miss  Reine  dbii't  seem  lil^e  h 
sent  1^  hère.  /  \    j 

•^Miss  Reine  sent  you  hère  ?"  \ 

fi^wcr^n,  Windser.     Robbers broie  iffiâst 


.took  away  aU  her  inoney,  hiindreds  and  fedreds  of  dollan, 


-1  • 


■••%'*■■ 


fï 


4' 


J 


\ 

ANOTH^fS  DAY. 


\ 


V. 


'^W^ 


357 

^  Lor^orth  IWens  in  silent  concern.  Ha  has  oftea  wamed 
Mrs  Wmdsor  against  her  habit  of  Iteeping  lar«  JZ^,.f 
mo„4  .njh.  house,  bat  Bay™„uth  i,  hZsVS^  buf 

"MydearMrs.,Wind§Qtô*M>oneworth  iv«  *  u-   * 

glittering.  «X  kno^  th#nan  I  "        J  ^f^*^''^  *^>*' 
r  «Indeed?    He  was  not maske J  tàêû ?    «;n^i  «     '  r  .;' 

^t  iras  the  ^enchman.Aurandl"-r      "    ^-"     '      "^ 
»^  <^">P^MliB5i,  and  sSres  at  herAi  U«^n,«^  ^^^ 


*4twas- 


man,  Durand 
%  monjbjr  «4^ 


lughter-s  relation.  ;t|was  tbfe  ï^lich- 
beUeve  Reine  UndeUe  told  him  of 
où»  hère  last  njght  1  "     • 


-f^rs-r 


■d*- 

> 


'■<(3»'^'-" 


■t  ,•  f.*>'ï 


't 


t 


\  * 


358 


-tj 


ANOTBER  DAY. 


ke/i„  te  cabine.  y„„d=rbetod;"„     iZ^T^^l^^ 
mouth,  and  held^   "' ?!r  ï'      t""'  "•■'  ^^  °'^  '"r 

'•■i'«nL^eate'r'B::^r'i  T  ""'"'  -'»  ™-- 

"  Still — _  »      «'  _^    ' 

Lt  :;r  ^  ^'  "^  ''=''^""  *^»  -"■•■*    I. tas  nc^te 

"Still .H  '  \ 


"Htrt~fit 


H  an  escape.    I  never  liked  l«r,  I  al^yXê,^ 

»/  -  -  - y--       '-v  ■         .  ..-    -  ^       -.       ----- -. 


have 


..r,-" ""•  '*-j9| 


w 


^ 


'''^'7"^''?f3 


-'5^- 


^1 


with  the  shock  oC 

now,"  she  goes  on 
1  he  entered  ;  but 
man  was  fittirg  a 
itarted  up  in  bed,  ' 
id  I  saw  his  face, 
is  hand  ovèr  niy 
chloroform  under 
morning  I  woke 
►erfect  order,  the 
elf  sick  as  death 

iding  his  voice. 

suspect  Made- 

of  this."       ^ 

nioney.     wfen 

across  the  gâte 


1  handkerchief, 
Ile."     «Cathe 
t  was  not  there 


everish  excite.^ 
or  thr^  smalï 
his  lïïOrning-^ 
is  her  friend- 
ould  hurt  her. 
loroform  ?    I 
she  let  him 
b  jcey&  woiild^ 


ANOTHER  DAY.  3^^ 

Ud.W>,  bad  to  .he  co,.    Yo„  ^us.  give  he.  up,  «a  at 

He  rises  frora  his  seat  and  wallcs  fn  *»,-     •  a 
given  hér  up.  he  believes  her  fil  a^^^^^^^^  ^f  ^^ 

.wrings  his  heart  to  hear  this,  ^««<=herous,  but  zt 

"Hâve  you  asked  her?"  he  says,  coming  back      «  Tf  î 
not  fa,r  to'condenm  her  unheard      vôur  .,L"f  *  '' 

stantial  évidence  the  m^»f  ,'•  J       évidence  is  circum- 

cviucnce,  the  most  unre  lab  e  in  the  worW      ti-  w, 
only  be  a  combination  of  circumc*»^.      me  worid.     It  may 
cent  i;,  the  face  of  it  ail''    ^  "''  '^"  "'"^  ^^  i»"°- 

ca::::^tr;lur1:::  ^-V^^'^-  yot  are  saying.  I 
want  to  see  again  Ca  henW,,,  "  T?'^"  '^''  ^  "?^*^' 
that  she  looks  daedtthT  "  V"""  ^^  ^"^^  ^^^  ^°°'"' 

Word.     Well    heTat  r"h   '.'"T^'^'  «'«"'^  be  the  better 

a.^.sheï;:-:-:a 

What  do  you  intend  to  do  ?  " 
"  I  intend  to  turn  her  out    V*.b  fK;<,  j        ,  . 

nigh.  ,hall  she  sieep  undtr  TS   oofT.  ''"    ''°"'"°*- 
shelter  for  thieves    r  .t  7  î      '  "  ''*''  "'""  been  a 

heisheH„;::::ar<^w;!°Ht^thtrr"r^^^    ■ 

Wwinkeep.hemf„r  a  while   "L  J^!  '^^"'■""''•'™f"'" 
help  hin.  ,0  «eal  more  "  '         "  8°°°  =''*  '^^» 

But  for  you  theJItr  «"«"iareyou  pleadforhçrl 

'^"w^'nind 


"Noneed 


,*Jvicy>a8decpiyi«youdo    In.  :  ■.^Jr^aL"'^ '"'^^^"^^ 


nçr  tQ  tell  you4he  tnitlû'' 


le- 


«-f4â4.',*,^iifc|'s1S  *. 


% 


^^ 


\ 


ft-?;»^' 


\.t 


*  r#Ri'  ' 


jm 


t 


^'■'«"î^?^ 


'«\V 


^         Ç  ANOTHER  DAY. 

«^.i.'^^h^  .^''*""=  «"""-  '«k'-g  «u™d  .# 

^*.Inher,owni»t>m,  ma'am."  ' 

"■Tell  her  to  corne  hère." 

T^egirlgoes.     Onôe  mo|^ %ngworth  start. to  his  itet 
Mrs.  Windsor,  it  will  hTL  tiiJ^  f  ■    ^"  "'*  'cet. 

for  me-to  re^aia.  JLf  jg^''"^  "o^i  •»»»">'■=  "«te  • 
'^:^CtZ^    ^'"^"  ^-  -.  an<L^. 

.n3*ielre°«;::°^r""°'-^""^  *>»-"«- 

liVou  sent  for  me,  madone  mÊt  *  '     *  "^  5é^    ^ 

%«  isjale,  and  cq^d^and  i^Pal^-  -but  the  mo»f    • 

|xprls^n  ofher  face  i.  one  o^^:^,^'  ^'T? 

Prn  out, as  thoueh  even  .o  c^-i,  ZZ^^''^^^'    ^^^  ^««'^s 


.»i, 
# 


t  z  part j-^-- = -  «nr:;i' 

"If  guilt  can  look  with  such  evès  as  fW.  fc    •  . 

«an  ..  W  i„„<«,„,e  or  .n,.hl';"*::j,^'  "  "^ 


suppresjfg 


#  *^M 


K 


i 


,*- 


"*,;;' 


prelfe  hiw  fairlyi 
known  her,  I  ong. 
'îi  even  in  intènig 

nel     I  will  not 

iônately.  "  You 
ar  her  piead  for 
youasjôngas  I 

ng  flurried  M 
ss  like  this. 


1^»  to  his  ftet 
I;  possible  taste 

'4 


luât  an 


«t^shaU,. 


s  Impossible — 
pon  himjiÉîlen>  ' 
She  slowly  adr- 


thé  ma^tering 

's>    She  looks 

re  unutterable 

tliinks,  as  he 


l^w  l 


is  mortal 


»t 


thsiippressf# 
dîdyounot? 
iVere  ^ou  01 


r%     t 


ANOTHEU  DAY.     u  ^^^ 

wereyon  not,  i:i -this  room   betwe^n  .  . 

%     morning?"  .         oetween  two  and  three  this 

'       Jieine  stands  mute. 

'   "Will  you  answer?^  #  . 

"Icannot,''shesays,inastifled'v6ice      ^ 
\     You  hear  I  »  cries,  fe.  Windsor  ^^r:,.'      •  ^ 

•^rt  of  tnumph  to  her  friend-'^        "     "^  '**  *  ^^^^^^il 
.•^«Mtotellahe,n,adero?sdlef^T°'!,  ^'^  ^-' ^^^n. 
«  honor  a^ong  thieves/but  I  „ev«/h    T  ^^^^»^^^'  ^here 
^  "Madame."  ^ine  C  1^^^^    ^  "  '^  "^^  "'^^ '' 
^i;e.  no  flash  inXrey^'^'i'l'^'^^.^^.r  "^^^^^  ^^  ^ 

^'No?.^ortheJerJ^^aL?/       , 

the  Frenchman,  Durand  Ti^!"°V^  °""^  ^°"  ^^'^ 
wiTOÊ  forbade  him  evér  ^^    '  ^  "'«^'^^'  ^^^^^^  ™y'gate 
Silène  J|  "^'^  '°  ^^^'^^^  of  this  stolen  money  ?  »  * 

^^^^:^^^,  ^r^  ^-een  t.o  an.' 
sponge  with  which  he  stuLlH""'  f^  '"  >^°"''  P°^k«  tlt 
Jno.,  periiaps,  that  LttoL  L"^^  "^^  ^^  ^^  ^^^ 
Mr.  Long^orth  belie.es  i^vL ^  "°"'^'    ^"^^^^  "^ 

Idonetodesenrefti,!"      ■      **?»■"»«■•.  but  what  hâve 

»"st  çéa  J'°Rle,.^^"^"'' «f  *»/  P^sionately,  «Wî, 
«  in  the  „„ço„scio;  .^^.^  "^^^^  ^  '^^  "ushe. 

one  lets  him  lead  her  out    In  fw       * 
"Reine,"  he  says.  "for  *!,-  u  3; 

^^  5       «sroDûery.    It  was  through  me 


m  ■: 


w 


m^' 


AKOTHER  DAY. 

you  Arit  came  here—în  aome  way  I  feel  answerable  for  you 
through  that." 

"I  wîsH,"  she  crics  o|it,  and  wrenches  her  hand  free, 
"  that  I  had  been  dead  be^re  I  ever  came  I  " 

"There  are  worse  things  in  the  world  than  death.  But 
tell  me—you  know  nothing  of  this  ?  " 

She  stands  silent  In  the  eyes  that  met  his  there  is  thc 
fc>ot  of  a  hunted  animaKat  bay,  with  the  knife  at  its  throat. 

"I  will  tell  you  nothing,"  she  answers,  lookîng  at  hîm 
•teadily  ;  "  not  one  Word." 

They  stand  for  a  moment  face  to  face.  He  is  deadly  pale, 
but  something  that  is  almost  a  flush  of  scorn,  of  dédance, 
bas  nsen  over  the  gray  pallor  of  her  face. 

"I   am  answered,"  he  says,  slowly;  **  as  Mrs.  Windsor 
says,  you  were  in  her  room  this  morning  with  the  thie/ 
Durand.    Then  Heaven  help  you,  and  help  me,  who  once 
beheved  m  you.    I  thought  you  almost  an  angel  of  light- 
truthful,  noble,  innocent  as  a  very  child.     And  you  are  the 
wife  of  a  gambler  and  a  burglaf,  his  aider  and  helper.     Go 
tohiml    Youarewellftttedforeachother!    Frora  this  bout 
I  shall  hâve  only  one  hope  in  connection  with  you,  and  that, 
tiiat  1 4teay  never  look  upon  your  fece  again  !  " 
^lïe  hirns  and  leaves  her.     In  the  hall  bdow  he  meets 
Catherine/  a       , 

"  Tell  Mrs.  Windsor  I  wiU  corne  again  to-tiight,"  he  says. 
♦*  I  am  busy  now,"  and  so  goes. 

The  girl  runs  upstâirk.  In  the  upper  hall  Reine  still 
stands  as  he  bas  left  her,  her  hands  locked  together,  her  eyes 
fixed,  her  fecestony.  Something  in  that  fmzen  agony  of  face 
and  attitude  &ightens  the  servant,  and  she  bursts  out  crying  ■ 
"Oh,  Miss  Reine!  Miss  Reine!  Y«i  were  always  so 
gentle  *n4  kjqd,  and  to  think  that  it  was  me  found  the 


twik  t^em  to  missis.     l'il  never  belieye  you  |(nçw  §  thing 
#00ttt  ti^  robb^ry  to  ijie  day  of  my  dead»  T 


iifc 


'•iii»-^ 


Ik* 


î  S/SS 


.;  '  '"y. 


iswerable  for  yoa 

s  her  hand  free, 

I" 

than  death.    Bat 

t  his  there  is  the 
life  at  its  throat. 
h  looking  at  him 

He  is  deadly  pale, 
corn,  of  défiance, 

as  Mrs.  Windsor 
^g  with  the  thie/ 
Ip  me,  who  once 
î  angel  of  light— 
And  you  are  the 
and  helper.  Go 
!  From  this  bout 
îth  you,  and  that, 

bdow  he  meets 

>-tiight,"hesay8. 

hall  Reine  stiH 
)gether,  her  eyes 
«n  agony  of  face 
irsts  out  crying  ; 
were  always  so 
s  ine  found  the 

u  lamw  §  thing 


yàmi^M^^.-  ^'"^ 


AirOTHMR  DAY. 


'  îV  'f    T"*!  r'       •7f 


3«3 


""  Go  J"  she  cries.     «v«»o  ««. 

«nçel  "  * \Zj^ ^      • , *^  *  a^y—go  at 

1  ms  houTj  tbis  moment  and  neVer  r«h.r«      mu  *i^  i 


I  wliae  auJ  «hagh  -  ^^J^ -— '^SE.  gatm-^jonifort  foi 


fi 


# 


■  \ 


r 


-^ 


■■Il 


II- 


V    364 


AlfOTHER  DAYi 


'**». 


hers  no  longer,  she  stands  for  a  little,  her  hand  to  her  head. 

trying  to  steady  herself  and  recall  her  dazed  «loughts.         ' . 
She  is  td  go,  ,and  at  once.    Yes,  that  is  easily  understood. 

She  glances  around  ;  her  préparations  rieed  not  take  long. 

Al]  she  broitglit  with  her  is  stiU  in  hçr  old  French  trunk. 

Ihe  few  things  necessaiy  to  t^e  imiàédiately  she  puts  in  a 

bag;  not  one  article  that  Mrs.  Windsor's  abhorred  money 

bas  bought  among  them.     Her  parse  with  the  last  quarter». 

allowanceis.in^  her  pocket;    she  cannot  do  without  th^t. 

Longworth  s  diamond  is  on  her  hand  j  she  sees  it.  tàkes  ït 
off,  and  lays  ,t  on  the  table.     Then  she  puts  on  her  hat  andX 
jacket,  and  is  ready.  , 

She  does  hot  meet  either  of-the  wonien  servants  a/;^ 
goes  down  stairs.  ^She  opens  th^  house-door  and  stands  for 
«  moment  taking  a  farewell  look  at  ail  about  her  ^     V 

The  evening  is  dull  and  ové^cast  ,n  douds  Huriy  across  rtiç 
sky-last  night's  storm  has  not  entïrely  stofnied  itself  out^ 
it  mtends  to  rain  again  before  morning, .  Bi^  on  thp  train,  ' 
theramwillnotmterferewithto-nîfhtVjoumey  "  ^ 
^  She  IS  going  to  New  York.,  It  is.<a  large  et.  and  she  has 
.been  m  rtr  a  brief  time;  she  has  no  otherbbject  in  select- 
ing  it,^  mt  ^h»,win  do  when  she  gks  there,  she  does  not 
yet  know.  , 

The  night.train  leaves  at  seven;  it  is  not  rtauqh  pasrfive 
now.  ^  What  will  she  do  in  the  interval  ?  Then  shê  remem, 
bers  she  has  promised  to  cafl  and  see  Miss  Hflrlott  thi» 
evenmg.and  she  will  keep  her  word.  Surely  Miss  «ariôtl ' 
has  not  heaitl  the  vile  neWs  yet  i  she  ca^not  urilésa  Loiig. 
wort^>has  gone  and  told  he„  and  she  do«,  not  think  he  is 
capab  e  of  do;ng  that.  Yes.  shé  will  ^eç  Miss  Haitt  once 
inore  for  the  last  time.;  How  veiy  sorry  she  is  totok^iss 
iianotts  esteem,  so  good  a  woman,  whos^.  resii^ind 
affection  are  well  wort^  having.-  .  ,.  .  ^SlP^    * 


f«. 


Jhg  shuta  the  dood^nd^^alk»  alowly 


,.       the  pauses  and  looks-  back  for  a  ftiomeût'  The%^ 

.'    .:«!'■'     ,       •  ■   •    '  ..  --  -,-.  "rf  ih'-  V  -  '^  ■ 


^■■^''\mWf~i, 


•1 


V 


kM/NjE*S  KNIGHT. 


^'.365 


,St^e  Housesfeehis  tostiieat  herfràwnînglyout  of  itsmany 

orrr"^  T,:  '  ''"^^^  '^^^^^  ^^  ^^^^^^^  »«  ^««^  g^y  front. . 

heart.wrung  sob  breaks  fro.„  her,  then  «he  hurries  1^1 
*  iicçeless,  Çcndless,  into.  the  di^ening  night.  ^  '  "  ' 


^  .*' 


■«iv;: 


ÇHÀPTER  XXVII.       " 

-  .  »  -    ,  »  - 

REINE'^  KNIOHT.  •  '"  * 

.    '     ■■■-  '■-  ■■■..,■  •"  „.'•"'. 

)n»0erate  bookVorm,  and  heavy  or  light  literah,™ 

g<d.  ■Her  b«pk  .his  .«„i^  «  a  nav.i;  a  ne,,  a^d  lit 
É^.  1  and^,j»ri«diy  .rietan,  and  ,he  d,oàgh.ful  S^t 
,      ^^^^»y.b^rbsher.    She,a^„dpwàauL,.^^^^ 

.^I  knôw  what  ^ôhgworth  wiH' say  abo#this  bnoV    a,.' 
„   .  -^  o»k<t<»pon  simply  as  a  story  to  »hiie  aZ^a„  ;),    k~ 
,   .>we11>,Jdi„dfn,a,Mïs  .nlirSii  .bLtÎ^d"  f^e 

~       l"^'*?-^'*  f™""' pensai;  neither  saddw  dor  wWr  th^ 

""î"'*"  *  ,d?1?n.    We!l,.,*y''d,ould  he?    Tl»  1    T    ■ 
■■■      «;««r  «orat  O^lf,  u  iaculcaL  «i^fpJ^L  Jït  S' 

'      W!™te«s«i,»,o„nde,,4Undtha.Jhe,'r„7ttia„T,Sh 
h.  anmse^  ««ruct,  to  show  us  life  «li,  i,  Jf  ^21.^  ï 


i,    !l 


^ 


-fefnte,  Trëf  US  nôT 


'|fr' 


'■X, 


,V: 


^^l^'^-r 


,  ♦.  *■ 


-y 


'  .•  *■  i> 


:;Hi 


% 


H 

■W'W^^ 

il 

i 

f 

1 

1 

I 

1 

# 


f* 


.A 


366 


REINE* s  KNIGHT. 


warm,  and  bnght.  The  shine  of  the  fire  glin^  on  tbe  picture 
frames.  sparkles  on  the  keys  of  the  bpen  piano,  and  flashf  s  on 
the  pretty  womanly  knick-knacks  scattered  carelessly  every. 
wnere.  She  gets  up,  pushîng  aside  book  and  work-basket, 
walks  to  the  windowr,  and  looks  out  at  the  dark  and  eustv 
evenii.g.  ^  6  ^^7 

.       "I.  wonder  if  my  Little  Queen  is  coming?"  she  thinks. 
bhe  promised,  and  she  mvariably  keeps  her  word-rare  and 
precous  quality  in  young  ladyhood.     Soniething  is  the  .nat- 
ter wuh  the  child.  soméihing  n.ore  than  ordinfrily  ^ 
somethingn^ore  than- the  going  of  this  young  Frenchman 
Can  she  and  Larry  hâve  quarreled  ?     But  that  is  hardly  hke- 
ly  either-.what  is  there  to  quarrel  about?     She  cares  more 
tor  him  than  she  is  willing  to  own  even  to  herself,  and  he 
perhaps,  13  ^acUng.     Ah  I  I  knew  she  would  not  fail  !     Herc  ' 

^  She  hurries  to  the  door,  and  holds  il  open.  Reine  closes 
«le  gâte  and  cornes  slowly  up  the  path,  carrying  a&rge  hand. 
bag,  her  face  so  pale,  her  step  so  lagging  and  «reaiy,  that 
Miss  Hariott  knits  her  brow  in  anxious  perplexity 

u  l  "^"^T  *""  ^^^  ■''  ^  ^^^  '"*"^''  ^"*»^  '•»«  ^'^  ?  "  she  thinks. 

Has  that  gorgon  of  a  grandmother  been  nagging  the  Hfe  out 
oi  lier,  or  is  it  only  the  departure  of  Durand  ?  " 

.  She  takes  Reine  in  her  arms,  and  kissés  hçr  çordially,  look- 
ingsearchinglyinto  her  face- 

"  'Oh,  rare  p4e  Margaret  1  ^     You  corne  gliding  «ke  a 
ghost  out   o     the  gloaming.      How  w^ite.  and  coW   and 
wretchedyoulookl    AreyousiçkJ    Are  you  worried  ?    \Vlat  ^ 
18  M  thjtt  trouBles  n.y  <iuçen  ?    l^ell  ^^^^J^y  godmothér." 

Bu|Re.,ne  only  «nks  in  silence  iJ^|iiir.  and.ay.  her 
head  irt  a  tired, "spiritless  way  against  Aéeushion. 

"Are  you  in  trouble,  dear ?    I  wish  I  could  help  you-^I 
wishyoucouldtellmc.    Is  }t  your  g^nd^other  ?    Ha3  riic 


'tny'Oying  ynii  ? 


Il 


"She  wouM teU  you  I  h»ve  becn amw>ying  her-^soqicthing 


■^'- 


-■\nf(-mwm>mmi^i 


•■  ^  j 


« 


X£mE*S  KNIGHT, 


} 


\ 


367 


more  than  annoying  her.    Oh,  Miss  Hariott  !  dear  and  true 
fnend,  I  am  m  trouble-yes,  my  heart  is  almost  broken,  but 
I  cannot  tell  you.     Where  would  be  the  use?    You  could 
not  help  me,  no  one  in  the  world  can.     A  little  while  ago,  and 
iT^   n^^'^^  ''^'"  differenc-a  fe^  .^ords  might    hâve 
cleWed  ail  up  ;  now  it  is  to^te,  too  late  forever.    There  are 
things  one  may  forgive,  but  çever^nevef  forget.     No,  do  not 
look  at  me    ike  that;    I  cannot  tell  you  indeed,  ^d  you 
could  not  help  me  if  I  did.     There  are^e  sorrows  no  oné 
can  help  usto  bear  ;  we  must  endttn^them  alone.     To-mor- 
row  you  will  know-every  one  Kthe  town  wiU  know  what 
has  hâppened  ;  but  to-night  I  do  not  want  to  speak  or  think 
of  it      Let  me  sit  hère,  and^iisten  to  yo<and  forgét  for  a  lit- 
tle  11  I  can."  ° 

Miss  Hariott  looks  at  her,  and  listens  to  |ër  \^  wonder  and 
silence  Her  words  falter  as  she  speaks  the^i,  her  eyes  are 
haggard,  a  white  spent  look  blanches  her  face  At  last  the 
lady  o  the-house  speaks,  and  the  stron^,  Wactical  çonunon 
sensé  that  IS  her  leadmg^haracteristic  mlrL  ^ery  word.       , 

"  My  dear^chUd,"  she  says,  briskly,  "  theré  iç  an  exhausted 
look  in  your  fece  that  I  hâve  seen  before,  and  recogfc,  and 
don't  hke.     Hâve  you  had  tea  ?  "    ' 

*•  Tea?"  Reine  r,epeats,  faintly;  "no."        %'       ' 
"I„thought  not.     Dinner?"'     .  ' 

"No."     Miss  Hariott  sÇares.  .       . 

'      "Nodinnerl     Breakfast?"  "'         . 

to  her  head.       No,  I  behev*  I  hâve  eaten  nothing  to-day." 

unnw''T  *?''""  ^"   ^""'^•«'^  Hariott,  an^-^its  Lt 
upngbt  m  J,lanlc  coiyrterpation  ;,  no  dinner-poieak^t- 

She  spnngpVh^r  fèet  opens  *the  i^oôf,  inji  calls  loudly  "^ 
^';^^^<^^-Thatyello;^famili^nppca».  ^ 


",Candace,  is  supper  nearly  ready  ?" 

«AU  ready,  «ia^uble  W  a^a  ever>thing.« 


\\\ 


n'i 


r.i 


•ytf  ,_ 


fitàMfi'^j 


|i:  - 


t  --, 


-t.. 


■iiPii 


368 


REm^'S  JCNIGBT. 


"Set  the  tablefortwo;  and,  look  hère  1  broil  some  steaks 
not  too^  rare,  minJ-just  slightly  underdone.  And  make 
coifee-she  pre^lffs  coffee.  And  don't  be  five  minutes  abou» 
it.  Miss  Rbiîie  is  hère,  and  bas  had  ho  dinner." 
-  Candace  disappears.  Miss  Hariott  returns,  draws  her 
chtiir  close,  and  takes  both  the  girl's  hands  in  her  own. 

"  Pear,»  she  Spftly  says,  »  are  you  surç  there  is  nothing  l 
çan  do  for  you  ?    I  want  to  do  something  so  much.     I  am 
very  fond  of  you,  my  little  one.\  I  suppose  I  was  never 
meant  tb  Jie  a  wife,  but  I  su.:ely  niust  hâve  been  meant  for  a 
mother.     If  I  Kad  a.daughter,  1  do  not  know  ï  could  be 
fonder  of  her  than  I  am  of  you,  and  I  would  wish'her  to  be 
.  exactly  hke  yOu,  ^   ReinV,  if  you  are  unhappy  at  your  grand- 
mother's-and  I  Jcnow  you  are-.leave  her,  and  coine  and 
hvewithme.     Nothing  would  make  me  sp  happ^.     I  Kàye 
a  thousand  things  to  be  thankfuï  fo?;  but  I  am  a  won^ari 
alone  ail  the  saimé,  and  I  am  lonely  often  enough.     Be  lây  ' 
daughter,  my  sister,  anything  you  please.     You  know  I  love  • 
•  you,  and  I  think  you  aî4  a  little^ust  a  little-fond  of  voitr  ^^■ 
old  maid  friend."  \  „ 

."  My  friend  !  my  frienfe  I  "  Reine  repeats,  and  leans  for-     ' 
ward,  with  filhng  eyes,  to  kiss  her.     "What  would  my  life 
hav€„lwen  hère  but  for  yout  'Do  not  say  any  morè  to  me  f 
— my  heart  is  so  full  I  cannà^bear  it.     I  wish  I  might  corne,  U 
but  I  may  not  ;  tÉ^-i*orrow  you  wîll  know  why.     And  whe^V 
you  hear.âïl,  do  not  think  of  me  too  hardly-ohl  db  not/ 
for.  indeed,a  am  not  guilty  !    Could  I  speak  and  bet^ay  my 
brpther  ?  .  It  is  ail  very  bitter— bitterer  than  death  ; 'tut  the 
very  worst  ofit  ail  has  been  the  thought  rhat  you  mkbe-' 
heve  whât  they  say,  and  think  me  the  despicablè  an<î  Mty 
créature  that  they  do;'         "  ^     •  „  "  :  f  * 

"ts4ier  mindwandèring?"  thiriks  Miss  Flâriift,  îh  di*     ' 
may.  ;  But,  .no  i  dark,  deep  trouble  looks  at  her  bût  of  thosè 
W<^f  melangholyjyffs,"bnt  nor  rdHiriou»  miod^  ■''■ 

**I  do  nçt  undergtaud,"  shç:  payg^'^^lexedïy; .  «  WIÉr  : 

f  '     - -n.  ■■"      ..  \-    '     ,     ..-■     ■■    '»'  v-v  v/';  -,■■  '■  "    ■    ■   '    li 


.1       ..ii^^ 


Cv, 


%.(s 


*,.. 


V," 


rrr^*; 

".         ■■'  ■    ** 

■■  -S 

♦  'f      . , 

•  ^  ■ 

>il  some  steak— 

le.    And  malce 

i  minutes  about 

er." 

rns,  draws   het 

her  own. 
re  is  nothing  I 
)  much.     I  am 
e  I  was  never 
en  meant  for  a 
w  t  could  be 
nsh'her  to  be 
it  your  grand- 
md  corne  and 
ippy.     I  hâve 

am  a  woi^an  ; 
)u^h.     Be  riîy      ■ 
\i  know  I  love 
-fond  of  yattt  *^ 

ind  leans  for-    .' 
vould  my  life 
'  more  to  me  1* 
might  comé^jl' 
■•     And  Whefîy 
-ohi  (fi>  not/    . 
id  betfay  n*y 
ath;Vtut  the, 
you  miy^he*' 
è  and,g;uilty 


1.  ■*' 


irioft/tn  dî* 
bût  ûf  thosè 


H/i  "wiif 


y 


i  . 


REINE^S  KNIGHT.  jgôp 

dj  you  mean  by  guilt  ?  What  is  it  they  accuse  you  of,  and 
who  are  '  they  ?  '"  i 

"Ah  !  I  fergot.  You  do  i)ot  know,  of  course.  Madaine 
Windsor  and  M.  Longworth."  I 

*«Longworth!"' cries  the  other,  indignantly.  «Do  yU 
mean  to  say  Lon|wort1i  accuses  you,  believes  you  guilty  iof 
any  wrong  ?  "         ^ 

.       "  Do  not  blâme  bim,"  Reine  says,  weàrily.     "  How  ca' 
he  help  it  ?    E^erything  is  agaiivst  me,  and  I  can  %j  nofhin. 
donothïng,     Yes,  he  believes  m'e  guilty,  and  you  like  hir. 
so  well  that  I  fear,  I  fear  he  wilï  make  you  belle ve  me  guilty 
too."  ,  ^        ,  .         .'   *'  ^ 

*      '•  ïf  he  were  an  angel,  instead  of  a  man,  with  his  fulf  share 
of  wan's  blmd  selfishness*  I  virould  riot  beBeve  one  word 
against  you..  Believe  !   I  would  not   listen  I     H^e  I  not 
;    eyes,  hâve  I  not  judgment,  do  I  not  know  youyWell?     I 
^   would  stake  my  lifc  on  your  gôodness  and  truth,-thoiigh  ail 
^'»^j;oj»ip  orBaymputh  stood'  up  with  one  mouth  and  con- 
.^  deriihed  you^l     Oh  1  Little/Queen,.  my  frienàhip  is  worth 
moçe^thàa  that;  pne  word  froni  Longworth  wïU  not  shake 
it*.     I  see  y<ji^  ring  is  gone  ;  can  it  be  posàible  that  aU  is  at 
an  end  between  you  ?  "  ,;    •  v       -.-t 

"  AH  !  ",  18  the  dreary  écho.        >  > 

•  :    .  "  Since  when  hasthis  been  ?^  Did  it  happen  to-day  ?" 
*'The  breafcing  ofour  engagement?    Oh  I   no,  a  wèek 
ago,  before  he  went  awày."  j    "         :        ,      . 

,  \    "And  I  knew  nothing  of  ît  ftot»  èithér  of  you  !    Well  ! 
and  what  was  it  ail  about?    Is  Laurence  Longworth  going 
.outof  hissent?" 
/     "  Corning  .into  his  sensés  hemigfitt^l  you. 

Spânish  proverb,  *^  wisfe  man  changfcs  his  mincj^a  ibôf, 
,     heyer.'    M.  Longworth  has  simply  sSowiï;  himself  à  wise^ 
naao,  aftd  changed  hts  ipind.     Dq  not  lef  us  talk  rtf  i>^  rv^a 


"*. 


There  is  a 


«lame.    I  am  so  weïUy  and  heart^k  of  it  ail." 
*     ^P«re  is  àiheart^ob  in  erery  wofd.    Af isf^llariott  «tarts  up 


..À"  »••■«;  'ffàk"^" 


.   ':*'.' 

A 

-<li 
•»," 

-■'  V■..::■■•^>v•■ 

•■■#5    '" 

n' 

=  ^  • 

^^■■îktj 

ly    ■■    '"' 

'■»,-        -,     „       ■> 

..^^  •  f 

,    %■*-« 

mt: ..  ■• 

î  ■  ,  ,- 

4^'    .   j                   '*.(«J'    * 

rlf 


-^ 


\' 


■<i 


'^/\% 


■X 


370 


m£jMe*s  kmçHT, 


X 


,  ïiti- 


\    . 


■.1, 
i 

1 


^*v 


i\'  '      i. 


"TU 


^AOh,  ™^  bru.cs.  what  blind,  smpid  idiot,  „en  ,he 
^-d^t^en  c»  be,     T„  U.i„k  „f  Long^onh', 

ner  gnest  and  lesB  her  on  to  the  dining-Aoni.    '  ' 

of  uT^  &™-«i.  and  does  „ot  kno«r  il  until  the  fragrance 

^*e  soft  drop  lighi  3ums;  raeats,  s«rMtmeats,  tïa  and 
'      ^X^    """  """^"^  — -P-s.  «e  sWad.  in 

«lof  A  s  b.,  of  stealc.  and  thèse  fried  potatoes.     Ca„da"e'. 

two  cups  of  coffee,  and  by  the  time  tbat  is  doneVd»«ill  be 
«  hving.  breathing  being  once  more.     No  brealfi^  Jdin 
••«er.nosupperl    Hère,  yon  shall  havc  a  toast  :  V 

.  ^H««>,,lKsiàKh  to  ail  thoK  thitwe  love  I 
Her.'».hedtlito.lllh«i,that  lovon,!  /  I 

^?î  "^î  '°f  ""^  ""^  '■'"'  •*« "»'  '»«  tho^L* W  ^ 
a«J  loK  Unae  tint  love  lu  »"t    -     :  .  ^/Jnatuove  qien 

.,.       •       ■■•.•••■.--.:■  ^y 

_    *^.,nt  laughrewards  this  quotatiort."Hearts  mav  break 

„^,I^f*/    T/^'^'"  ■^""  h"  l««>™ance  is  cn.ioently 
Un,at,rfactory  t/the  giver  pf  .he  feast.  who  fro«ns  ^  she 

;-«^^^her  „„,,■  temptiog  djinties  pushcd  «ide.ZoT.  :!;! 

offv,otorH«,  m  any  struggle  of  life.  the  first  ingredicnt  Ta 
^  appetite  Reine,  I  .ish  yon  wonld  rcmfin  Jft  ^ 
^  b>g  ..«annyhouM,  and  the  oppressive  ™a  esty  oH» 
^s^are  kUHngyou  byinche.'  Ly  with  iTe'IoÏÏ 


■'#îa 


"i-nm  stayrâg  ïôngerflian  I  oqght 


.1    f  Biif     • 


\ 


^^j^-^y^f^::-  j*-*-*^».  j4>é,; 


H^iott  seizes 


./V 


'/ 


f   , 


\X£/J\r£'S  KNIGHT, 


fe'«w^fe^^ Éntjf    ■* :-A 


371 


feel  hke  i  „ew  being,  strengthened  and  refreshed  since  I 
leel,  but  in^ed  I  ain  most  grateful."      ' 

wha  love,  dear^child-it  i,  lAore  blesJd  to  give  than  to  r^ 
.cerve  m  such  cases.     Will  you  indee/go  ?  " 

'♦1  must.    I  hâve  ho- choice  jn  ihe  matter.     If  t  had  I 
would  stay-o^l^  hpw  gladIy-witK.you  forever  "       '   - 
Sherisesarid  re^u«es  her  hat  andjacket.    iîiss  Harfott 

!  lent  r     mT'"!"^  '"  ""^'""^-      S»^^  ««-  -*  J^-»  Still  . 
«lent,  troublçd,  and  perplexed  to  the  door.     It  k  quite  dark 

now    wmdless  and  warm,  with  the  weight  of  càmbg  rain 

n  «,e  air. .  Hère  Reine  pauses,  holds  out  both  Zn^  and 

looks  up  rnto  the  face  of  her  friend.  X 

«1i'7k*''^^"  u  "^^  '°  ^i'  ^"""^*'  ^"^  best  friend,  of 
ail  that^is  ,n  my  heart  ?  I  loVe  you,  I  thank  you,  and  even 
if  m  spite  of  yqurself  they  make  you  think  hardly  of  me   / 

good-by-I  hke  that  English  word  good-by.  Good-by,  Mar- 
rame*  ^* 

"Bu.  only  until  to-morrow,"  Miss  Hariott  says,  wVapK 
doub.  and  aUu™.     -Corne  and  spend  a  long  day  wi,h  ^ 

N^and";  r  -  ""*  ""  "'  """  ^  "^  '''<'™»4  - 
Reine  smiles  faintly.  / 

"  Ah  rna  Normandie.     'Je  vais  revoir,  ma  Normandie.' 

It  is  a  long  time  smce  I  hâve  sung  that.    Good-by.  good-by  ; 

it  is  t,me  I.  was  gone." /  Ahd  then  there  i,  a  iiss,  dnd  a  mo- 

ment  Ute.  Miss  Hari/t  stand^on  her  door^step  llone.    ^      - 

Mr,  w'J""       'u^^^^'^*^"*^"*"''^^^  Longworth  and 
Mrs.  Windsor,  without  quite  knowing  why.    What  does  it  ail 

fri!nd     i;*"'^8'***  ^«"»'*«  has  surely  bcfallen  her  litUe 


Jgg!l4i    llerej^^ 


••fOther^beforc.  »Isi>afcythingconnected  with  Durand? 


[  'Twi        ^Û^  trt.  i' 


t'iâ^iï.Ai  ■ 


1 


-W  ^ 

-^^* 


i'ji 


V 


ai' . 


m  '^ 


372 


XEII/E^S  KNIGHT, 


Has  henot  gone  ?    She  has  forgotte'n  to  ask     t««, 
8uch  haste  now?     Win    t^  ^""^  7^^^  »*  ^^^^  girl  going  m 
^      iiopes  so  ;  hç  will  clear  up  this  mystery  and  she  will  be  Jw! 

^3^^   sS?"  "  unspeakable  co,„fbrt  to  scold  somc 

uoay.    uissatisfied,  curious,  troubled  she  Qh.uj-fi,     i 

goes  back  .„  so.i.„d,  and  hLr  ch.er^'.tltit'ol  ""^  """ 

f  i-uurcn     a  paie  light  glimmers  inside  anH  <:h» 

^rns  and^  goes  i„.     One  light  onl?  burns,  the  Hg^t  "f   he 

kneehng  figures  hère  and  there.  But  no  one  looks  ud  In 
are  absorbed,  and -she  ghdes  without  noise  into  a  pe7à^ 
knee Is  don^n.     fier  prayer  is  wordless,  but  none  thelels'  elo 

r.^Tt\  ^"*^J'  *^*^^^  ^ho  readshearts.,  Misèrent  Mise 
ulvail^f  ^-^- of  that  voiceless  cry.  ^AU  oth^helpt 
,  ^1^:L.Z  ^--'one  can  help/and  hL,. 

o  clock  th,s  duU  afternoon,  and  Ihe  tide  of  business  and  print-      • 
mg  flo,vs  on  rapidly  and  ceaseléssly.     In  his  room  IJ^"^'^ 
^  e^uor,  rather  over.orke4  during  his  chiefs  abse  «    s  pre-"    ^ 
parjng  to  take  an  early  d^partuVe,  and  moves  about  p  tting     ' 

nedoesso^    ^his  is  what  Mr.  O'Sullu^n  sings  :  '  • 

'  ""  Un  '  ^^'f.''.*^*"^'''"''  ^''•*''*'  ^^  y°»  «»>»"  hâve  a  cow  • 
I  never  whistled  m  my  îffe-^  iV/a,>i,>//,  «//r«,.'" 


\ 


./"' 


*'*?i^^'"l»»  *a 


V  4  -•  \  • 


k.  To-morrow 
he  girl  going  in 
o-night  ?  S^e 
he  will  be  ablt 
sent  Miss  Har- 
to  scold  some- 
^  the  door  and 
oom. 

e  station  takes 
nside,  and  she 
»e  light  of  the 
5  half  a  dozen 
looks  up,  ail 
0  a  pew,  ànd 
î  tl|e  less  elo- 
d^eart  needs 
erei^f  Mise, 
Pther  help  is 
lp,'and  heal, 

lâring  at  five 
ssand  print-,. 
011)  thé'^sub-     , 
înce,  is  pre-    f 
out  putting 
led  stave  as 


sa  cow.' 

r  » 

t-aman.* 
r».'" 


i  soliloquy, 
cowr  she'd   '■  ' 


C 


KEtNES  KNIONT.  ^ 


373 


^.  Me  I  know  .f  ,!,«„  except  by  hearsay^ifs  more  and 

||-h|;a,th,  «s  ,he  co«  they'd  hâve  whis.led  for,  both  of 

->1h.^  *  ''''"  "^'  '"P"'"-     After  dinner,   and  a 

-Vmoderate  amoun,  of  ,™e  spent  peacefuUy  smoking  'o  aid 

d  gestion.  ,he  sub-edi.or  of  *e  PHeni.  Lts  o/for  hU 

wmch  he  most  affects  ,s  the  road  that  leads  to  the  station 

■  fil'e  thir    ""  "^  *=,'"'"''  "^  ^'P'^»  '"  *=  "bseurit;  a 
%ure  that  has  a  vaguely  fa,„qiar  air.     In  a  moment  he 

recognizes  ,t_,t  is  Mademoiselle  Reine  Landelle     Is  she 

^«omg  to  church  at  this  hour?    There  is  «É,i„g  out  Ô    Ae 

commonorsurprisingto  O'SuIlivan  if  shè^  he  ^L  hit' 

elf  somehmes.    Bu.  as  the  light  of  thé  stfeé.'lâmp  b"  n2 

d"enr'i::de  .^"^^  '^"'  ™  °"  "«  '■-^.  he -pauses  sT. 
denly_us  dead  y  paleness  strikes  him,--!  Obeying  an  impulse     ' 
he  follows  her  m,  takes  his  pUce  in  i  pé„W  the  door' 
>vherehecanwatchher,himsçlfunseen;    ■        "  '"V      ' 
He  sees  her  kneel,  bury  her  face  in  her  hands,  and  so  re 

uig  aroupd  him,  but  their.attitttde  is  not  herwHers  snvL;.- 
.  some  dfep  trouble  or  suffering.  Then  she  riffi  heTe 
n,om.„,  she  has  passed  the  pew  where  he  «rand  is  g^nT 
troHaKf  "P,»"^  '"1'°"»  ^er  oùt,  stiU  obeying  that  uncon- 
Wlable  .mpulse,  It  is  too  late  for  her  to  be  oui  a(61,e  The 
^gi,.  «  dark,  the^y  lonely.  and.drunkg.  men  (r^VX 
Baymoutharesonietimes4bout.       ■>**-.  >™'  "?«» 

But  sli^doesnot  turn  back  to  the  («■f  «k.™,^  ■;    -  t 

^on.  wtl.  «n.e  curiosity^  his  mi^  Ci*  t' S 


Ni 


■■  ■■\ 


•  m 


siÈ^T.l 


MX 


\ 


K'«' 


374 


ttEINE'S  KNJfHT, 


'    stfonger  instinct  that  «he  is  u^protected,  and  ti»at  k  is4u« 
place,  unohserved,  to  take  care  pf  her  ' 

loafers.     Many  eyes  turn  upon  her,  and  O'Sullivan  can  see 

her  %f'         "^"""^  ^  '"^"^^^  *^~'-    ^"^^"^^J'  '^^  is  by 

"Mademoiselle,"  he  sâys,  taking  off  his  hat,  «  can  I  be  of 

any  We  to  you  hère?    It's  not  a  pleasant  place  for  a 

lady  to  be  in  alone."  *'  "t  « 

She  turns  to  him  and  catches  his  arm  whh  a  look  he  never 
Ta.'  r»    u^  °^  '"^""^  ''"'''  *"^  ^^XcoT,^^,  and  relief. 
♦;  u  "r     xr       '^^^  "'-"  y°"'  monsieur?    Yes,  I  want  a 

Shf  sLT/JH'  T"*'  ""''  "'"^  amaze,looking  at  her. 
W.ni!ljP  ^""^  ^"''''''  "'  *  'P^^™  °f  P^n  Crossing 

"Oh    it^^^is  strange,  I  know,  alone  ât  nieht    but  I 

cannot  he Ip  it.     Something  bas  happened,  so.efh'ng  v  J 

unpleasant,  monsieur,  and  I  must  go.  .  Do  get  ,the  ticket 

^it  is  almost  tune  for  the  train  to  start  "  ' 

The  perceptive  faculties  of  the  ,nan  are  keen  •  instante 

he  k„o.s  that  she  is  flying  fr.m  her  graudmothe.;  iouseto 

return  no  more.     Instantly,  also,  his  resolvfe  is  taken-she     ' 

shall  not  go  alone.  ^  T  ^"® 

"Sure,  isn't  it  the' i^i^ortunate  thing  m  the  world  •'  h*, 
^^ys,  cheerfully,;«that  buLss  is  takin'g  nj  up!  oo/hot 

m  hfe  to  be  of  use  to  yo^  on  the  journey,  and  ye  know  me 
Ipng  enough,  Mademoiselle,  and  wiU  do  me  the  honor  I^r^ 
sure,  to  command  me  in  any  .ay  I  can  be  of  Service  t"'^™ 
It  s  proud  and  happy  m  be  if  ye'U  only  trust  me  just  Tî 
ye  had  knoWn  me  ail  my^life.»  .  J  "  as  u 

She  Ipoks  up  in  his  4ce,  and  with  a  sudden,  swift  emo 
lion  hûshis  hand  to  her  lips.  '^'^ ^'^"^  «"»P-  .: 

The  <1ark,  nprni^l  cyc,  ma  fuU  of  tea»  ;  and  thé  tearT"" 


^^&ii£tMMi^miÊ&:X  .V 


:'*  ,  j'y 


Qd  tJuU  ki8-<^i 

led  virith  staring 
Sullivan  can  see 
istantly  he  is  by 

it,  «  can  I  be  of 
*nt  place  for  a 

i  look  he  never 
and  relief. 
Yes,  I  want  a 

looking  at  her. 
pain  Crossing 

t  hight,  but  I 
aniething  very 
et.the  ticket; 

een;  instantly 
her's  house  to 
is  taken-— she 

he  world,"  he 
up,  too,  hot- 
Ltest  pleasure 
ye.  know  me 
e  honor,  l'm 
rvice  to  you, 
me  just  as  if 

1,  Swift  enao- 


REINE^S  KmCHT, 


^n 


ad  the  tèars 


.and  the  light  touch  of  the'lips  move  him  «re^y     Thev 
stand  by  themselves.  no  one  near  to  wôndeTof I^"         '' 

"Wlnncioiir      T    <.U:-1.     ^t_  .      _jr     . 


,\1to  I  trembled  at 


Now  I  am  not„ 


me  m  my  trouble.  For  I  an.  in  trooble,L« 
the  thought  of  thi,  aight-joumey  alone^  J 
afraid;  you  are  w^ih  me,  and  ail  is  well  •■' 

Uft,  then     he  adds,  mwardly,  "  may  the  cu.se  of  the  ïrows 

sweet  tace  1     Didn  t  I  ei^er  and  always  distrust  that  ™ft 

yolen  young  Dura„d-a„d  do,'..  I  Lo.  Tha     Ïs  soie 

■   dev,  me„.  „f  Ms  that  has  broùgh.  this  „pon  her  î    wlstf"! 

Z  :::X  1  •■  °"'  ""  '  '^:"'  -"  '■"'»  *^  ^^^^^  - 

thfl'^T'K  'T  '^^^''''  ™'"  "«"brief  telegram  for 
thi  office    to  be  dispatched  next  morning  :  '.Calknwav 

^r:;i„  s  urtf""  '^'  '°  ■""  "-  '»  »  P^--  befor. 

th^^ï^  '!  ,'"^  ""=^-    '■'''  '■=^"e"«  of  the  preceding  night 
the  n  ent.^  stra.n,  the  long  fast,  hâve  «tterly  exhausted  h« 

^n:re:;rn.:t^::.*:,;---^^^^^^^^^ 

deeply  and  q„.e,lv.  Hke  a  s<.e„.  child.    The  smaJl  duTk 
catches  her  breath,  as  if  the  «.rrows  of  her  waking  hours  fol- 
iée.'" OZ  r  *'¥:<'     ^''^'  ''  i.aU*abo„T/ 
Chef  but  he  ha,  never  lied  him  less  than  as  Reine  Lan- 
Îl'^"^-    ««,^''?°S=*'  «-««''fc  «3  he  Bits  herT^t^ 


^Pliciily  as  Thôugh  hël^ëf è  ïèf  Wther 
chosenhimtobefiiendjher.  ' 


iÀâ&Ét'à^&,x2 


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i. 


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WEBSTER,  N.Y.  14580 
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376 


REINE' s  KNIGHT. 


If  nature  had  added  six  or  seven  inches  to  Mr.  O'Sullivàn'r 
stature,  and  shown  better  taste  in  the  sélection  of  a  set  ql 
fçatures,  this  narrative  might  never  hâve  been  written.     The 
50ul  of  a  knight  dweltin  this  gentleraan's  body  ;  his  possi- 
bihties  were  infinité,  his  opportunities  tew.    ^  woman  in' 
distress  mvariably  àppealed  to  his  sympathies,  no  matterhow 
old  or  ugly  that  woinan  might  be.     In  his  character  of  a  New 
York  reporter  how  often  had  he  nearly  got  his  head  broken" 
by  mterfenng  between  quarreling  husbands  and  wives-ihe 
wives  being  generally  the  first  to  turn  upon  the  peace-maker 
Before  beauty  in  distress,  needit  be  said  that  risk  of  limb  or 
hfe  would  hâve  been  the  merest  bagatefte  ?     Yes,  the  possi- 
bihties  of  heroism  were  «trong  in  the  b'Sullivan  j  but  how 
is  a  httle,   whiskerlesà  man,   with    a  rubicund  complexion 
and  a  turn-up  nose,  to  be  heroic  ?     If  Sir  Gaîahad  had  ^een 
so  biighted,  would  he  ever  hâve  set  forth  in  search  of  the 
Holy  Grail?     If  Sir  Launcelot  had  been  so  marwd,  would 
ail  his  chivalry  and  brilliant  bravery  hâve  given  King  Arthur 
ground  for  the  D.  C.  ?    The  chivalry  that  is  sublinte  in  your 
tall,  yourstately,  yourhandsome  cavalier,  sinks  to  the  ridicu- 
lous  in  a  sub-editor  of  five  feet  five.     The  instinct  vfas  there, 
but  nature  and  destiny  were  alike  against  it. 

"  Where  is  the  good  of  thinking  about  it  ?  "  more  than  once 
had  thought  Mr.  O'SuUivaq,  with  an  impatient  sigh.     "  If  I 
were  wrecked  on  a  désert  island  with  her,  like  Charles  Reade's  ^ 
transcendental  omadhaun,  and  we  lived  there  together  foi 
twenty  years,  sure  l'd  be  no  nearer  her  caring  for  me  at  the 
end  thanat   the  beginring.     She  would  let  me  gather  the 
cocoanuts,  and  fry  the  iish,  and  build  her  a  hut,  and  smile 
upon  me  with  that  beautiful  smile  of  hers  every  time,  and  say 
♦Merci,  monsieur-  in  that  sweet  voice-and  By  the  came 
token  it's  the  sweetest  I  ever  heard  at  home  or  abroad  ;  but 
fall  m  love  with  me—oh,  faith,  no  I     Still  I  think  the  life 
would^^  pleasant,  and  upon  me  conscience  l'd  exciMLAg^ 
^le^jRffcwèw  olrice  for  It  any  "-*  " , _ .-^ — 


Mr.  O'Sullivàn'r 
tion  of  a  set  q{ 
1  written.  The 
ody  ;  his  possi- 

Ji  wtMiian  in' 
,  no  matter  how 
racter  of  a  New 
is  head  broken . 
and  wives — -jthe 
le  peace-maker. 
:  risk  of  limb  or 
Yes,  the  possi- 
ivan;  but  hovr 
nd  coniplexion 
lahad  h  ad  Been 

search  of  the 
marpêd,  would 
n  King  Arthur 
ubiinte  in  your 
s  to  the  ridicu- 
inct  Vf  as  there, 

nore  than  once 
t  sigh.     '«  If  I 
harles  Reade's  ' 
e  together  foi 

for  me  at  the 
ne  gather  the 
lut,  and  sinile 
time,  and  say, 

By  the  sanie 
r  abroad  ;  but 
:hink  the  life 
l'd  èxjchajxgm 


HEINE 'S  KNIGHT. 


177 


Neither  by  inclination  nor  constitution  was  the  O'Snllivan 
a  sentimental  or  romantic  man-very  much  the  reverse  in- 
deed  ;  but  Reme  Landelle's  dark,  lustrous,  Norman  eyes  had 
got  a  way  somehow-of  floating  before  him  and  disturbing  his 
peace  of  mind,  after  a  fashion  quite  without  précèdent  in  his 
expérience  of  ladies'  eyes.     Was  he  falling  in  love  ?    He 
did  not  knowjhis^ppetite  and  spirits  were  not  impaired  to 
any  seriou^M^cteiïtrand  thèse  he  had  always  «ndefstood  w^re 
the  symptoms  ;  qeverthele^s,  she  was  something  différent  to 
h.m  from  ail  the  rest  of  the  world.  ■  There  was  a  strong  bond 
of  ;  fneadship   l^etween   him   and   Longworth  ;    he  admired 
prodigiously  the  superior  talents  of  his  chief;  there  were  few 
of  hfe  s  good  gifts  he  wopld  |iaye  grudged  him,  but  when  hia 
engagement  to  Reine  was  made  k^«.n,  he  came  very  near 
t      What  the  feehng  was  in  O'Sullivan's  case  who  is  to  say  ? 

n  nt    r  ï'"  '°'''  ^'^P  ^"^  ^^"^'  ^^-"g  -"^  tender, 
in  a  taller,  handsomer,  more  dignified  Aian.   . 

For  Reine_ah,  well  !  Reine  liked  him  cordially,  and  trust- 
ed  h,m  imphctly  by  instinct,  and  without  knowing  why.     She 
had  always  a  frank  smUe  of  welcome  for  the  good-humored. 
-round-faced,  rather  elderly  young  man.  whose  bald  forehead  v 
she  looked  down  upon  every  Sunday  from  the  choir,  and*"" 
who  usually  walked  home  with  her  after  service.     That  he  ' 
could  fall  m  love  with  her,  that  he  could  fall  in  love  with  any 
one,  was  a  funny  idea  that  never  entered  her  head 

She  slept  ail  night.  The  train  flew  on,  and  in  his  seat 
O  Sulhvan  dozed  fitfully  and  at  intervais.  His  profession  had 
r^ndered  n.ght-work  of  any  sort  second  nature-owls  and 
newspaper  men  being  always  at  their  briskest  when  the  rest 
of  the  world  virtuously  sleeps.  It  was  only  when  the  train 
w  nt  thundenng  mto  a  station  that  the  hubbub  around  her 
i^y  awoke  Reme.  She  saV  up  with  a  startled  look  to  meet 
the  fnendly,  reassunng  face  of  her  rompan.nn,^ 


-Wfiere  a^e  we?"  she  asks.     ".  Hâve  I  been  asleep?» 
We  are  in  New  York,  and  it  is  a  beautiful  slcep  ye  havc 


)LMIdm!l£\^£L      \» 


Id 


378 


REINE' s  KNIGtfT, 


had  pf  it  oll  nigbt,"  replies  Mr.  O'Sullivan,  and  rises  and 

.     station  still  half  bewildered.  ^ 

"This  way,  ma'amselle-we'll  find  a  hack,  and  ifs  lucky 

^^^TT^'""'^  '°  ^"'*^"  "'•    ^^  *»^'^^«  *»y  Particular  place." 
JNo,    Reine  says  in  a  distreSSed  voice,  "  I  dq  not  know 
ivhere  to  go.     Oh,  what  would  I  ever  hâve  done>nionsieur, 
If  1  had  not  met  you  ?"  , 

'  .  "  'ï^'^^»  I'»  i"^t  take  you  to  a  hôtel  'for  the  présent,  ànd 
when  we  hâve  had  breakfa^  in  comfort  and  quiet,  we'U  step 
out  and  look  about.  us.  If  you  could  only  make  up  your 
niind  to  let  me  *noV  what  you  mean  to  do,  maybe  I  could 
be  more  useful  to  you.  If  ifs  Mr.  Durand  ye  want  to 
nnci — —      . 

'•  No,  no,"   Reine  interrupts,  "  oh,  no  !    I  never  want  to 
see  Léonce  agaip.      Monsieur,  how  very  strange  ail  this 
must  seem  to  you,  I  known;  and  yoit  hâve  been  sogood  a 
friend  to  m^-Mon  DUuI  "how  ^ood,  that  I  must  teflB 
why  I  hâve  run  away.     For^ou  know'  I  hâve  run  av^llK 
^you  not?     No  one  in  the  >,^rld  knows  I  am  hère;!, Oh  I 
fear,  I  fear,  you  must  think  very  badly  of  me  for  th'ik  " 
"Mademoiselle,"  responds    Mr.   O'Sullivan,    brusquely, 
that  is  nonsense.     I  could  not  think  badly  of  you  or  anv- 
thing  you  might  do,  if  I  tried.     I  don't  want  to  know  why 

\l\^^l  ''T'""^  ^"°^  ^^^'  "  "^"^^  ^^  «ke,  living  with 
that  high  and  m.ghty  old  Juno,  your  grandmother.  I  only 
wonder  you  hâve  stood  it  so  long.  Don't  say  o.ie  word. 
Ma  amselle  Reme  ;  caij  I  not  see  that  it  distresses  you,  and 
am  I  not  ready  to  take  your  word  for  it,  when  you  say  you 
had  to  corne."  /  /  " 

"You  a^e  gênerons,"  she  says,  brokenly,  and  she  thinks 
with  u  pang  how  différent  ail  might  hâve  been  if  the  man 
who  professed  to  love  her  had  trusted  herlike  this  :  «but  I 

nm^tell^u.     MadamgWkdsoiH«^yoafcaow,«iwayi  di».— 
liked  M.  Durand."  »         /   »«- 


r      \ 


Hi  and  rises  aud 
out  into  the  noisy 

ck,  and  it's  lucky 

particular  place." 

"  I  do  not  knowr 

donc,  monsieur, 

the  présent,  ànd 
quiet,  we'U  step 
r  niake  up  your 
',  maybe  I  could 
md  ye   want  to 

I  never  want  to 
strange  ail  this 
been  so  gqi^  a 
f  must  tel 


RE:.V£'S  KNIGHT, 


379 


g^da 

'JîPBo 


^e  run  a.vf} 
mherelî,.  Oh,  I 
for  tKik." 
an,  brusquely, 
o{  you  or  any- 
:  to  know  why 
ike,  living  with 
lother.  1  only 
say  oiie  Word, 
esses  you,  and 
;n  you  say  you 

md  she  thinks 
ien  if  the  nian 
î  this  ;  "  but  I 


««"More  betoken,  some  others  of  us  did  the  sar  e  "  « 
mwardly,  Mr.  O'Sullivan.  ^'^'    '^^^ 

tatl7voice^'/  ^"'""  '""'"  P"""'^  ^^^"^'  ^^'"  i"  *hat  agi- 
ttr  hour  r^^^'^^-^^--  '"^  forced  an  entrance  inio 
«^e  house  and  stole  a  large  sum  of  money.     My  grand^ 

of  being  his  accomphce.  She  said  some  very  bitter  and 
cruel  thu,gs  to  me-things  so  bitter  and  cruel  that  I  can 
never  forget  them.  I  do  not  know  that  I  can  e  e  forgive 
and  sol  came  away.  I  eould  not  stay-I  was  called  a  S 
'  -my  father,  my  dear  dead  father  was  called-oh  !  she  wls 
cruel,  cruel,  cruel  !"  ^ 

"  TW?„ld  catamaran  !  tbe,/old  witcl.  of  £ndo.-  !  Oh  1  then 

may  ■«  coma  back  ho.  and  iteavy  on  herélf,  and  „,ay  I  Hvê 

o  see  ,,  I    Bu,,  Mademoi  Jle  Rrin=_s„re  ye'll  pardon  ™e 

for  „ara,„g  hm,-wasn'.  th^e  Lon^worth.  and  as  ye  are  et 

vof  lef^  h'°^  "u  T  'T  ^""  """  *""  """  hin,  before  " 
>ou  left.     He  -would  havc  iaken  your  part  against  her " 

-  Js  intreyls.^""''  'T  ""•'  '  '^'  °'  ^"^  "''^^  *<= 

"  He  take  my  part  l_l/e  my  friend  !    May  Heaven  défend 

ZuZr"  "-«i»' >"-ur,  he  knew.  »d  took  sMe' 

w..h  her  agatnst  me  ;  hJ  believ«tine  to  be  a  Uar  and  a  thief 

Oneday  1  may  learn  tZ  fo-^ive  her-she  is  old  and  J^t 

dtced,  and  never  liked  L  ;  but  him_monsie«r.  I  wU,  «j» 

forgive  your  friend  my/whole  life  long  "  "■  never 

"  No«r,  by  the  Lor,^  Harry  !  "  cries  O  Sullivan  with  flash 

«g  eyes,  --.f  any  one  else  of  ail  the  world  had  to7d  J  tht 


AamedlouH"         ^W  «y^omaenc,  .«^.rtnniiiy 
But  Reine  is  growing  cato  again;  the  tean  are  dried,  an* 


■,**  '.. 


38o 


XEINE'S  KNIGHT: 


the  fierce  indignation  has  died  in  slow  sadness  ont  of  het 
eyes. 

"  No,"  she  says.  eamestly,  "  no,  monsieur,  you  must  not 
quarrel  wth  your  frieiid  for  me  ;  you  nrtist  not,  teU  him  you 
know  anythmg  of  me^^^hy  do  you  laugh ?» 
_"Truly,  mademoiselle,  that  would  be  a  difficult  matter 
Tell  him  I  know  nothing  of  youj,  Sure  wasn't  there  twenty 
if  there  was  one  on  the  platform  when  wè  left,  and  won't  it 
be  over  the  town  before  noon  tonlay  ?  The  man  or  woman 
who  wiU  keep  a  secret  in  Baymouth  will  hâve  something  to 
do,  upon  mefaith."  */  * 

:    She  looks  at  him  in  silence,  wistful,  dist;essed,  perplexed. 
"  Was  it  wrong  for  you  to  come  with  me  ?  "  she  asks. 
"  Wrong  !     If  it  was,  I  would  like  somebody  to  télFime 
what  is  nght     If.I  had  a  sister,"  says  the  O^ulli^i^th 
rather  a  he.ghtened  color.  «*  circumstanced  as  jfo* were,  and 
^    obhged  to  run  for  it,  wouldn't  I  be  proud  and  Ihankful  if  any 
friend  of  hers  o^niine  would  step  to  the  fore  and  take  charge 
of  her  ?     Ifs  Kot  the  thing^  that  set  the  longues  pf  gossips 
waggmg  mosf  that  are  most  wrong— you'll  find  that  out  if 
you  hve  lotig  enough.     Bu!  this  is  ail  a  waste  of  time,  and 
we  are  close  upon  the  hôtel.     Just  tell  me  what  your  plans 
are,  mademoiselle;  there  isn't  an  inch  of  New  York  I  don't 
know  better  than  my  ï,rayers^Wd  there's  no  telling  the  service 
I  may  be  of  toyou.     î^it  yoiir  intention  to  remain  hère  ?  " 
"  Can  I  do  Bètter,  monsieuA?  "     It  is  a  great  city,  and  in 
a  great  cityit  is  always  easiest  ko  earn  ône's  living,  is  it  not? 
And  I  hâve  come  tô  earn  my  ov^n  living." 

He  looks  at  her  in  pity.    Earn  |ier  own  living  !    So  young 

so  fnendless,  so  ignorant  of  the  World  she  has  come  to  face 

and  figHT!     Oh,  for  the  power  to  win  her  from  them  ail,  to 

shield  her  fçrever  from  life's  care,  and  struggles,  and  wôrk  ! 

.  lus  a  moment  before  he  speaks. 

_^    "  YouLmindis  fiilly  made  ap^'i^e  asfa. ^^YouVuer— 

intend  to  return  to  Baymouth  ?  " 


Iness  ont  of  het 


"  You  do  not 


REWE*S  KNIGHT. 

"  Never,  monsieur.     I  will  die  first  !  " 
"  Not  pven  if  Longworth- 

£â     T\.   _  .-  \  m      •  ... 


381 


"  ^\^;j^  "V  him  !  "  she  cries,  her  eyes  l^ghting  passion, 
ately.  ^'I  nev^want  to  hear  his  name,  or  see  his  face  as 
long  as  I  live  !" 

•"  I  beg  your  pardon.»    Ta,  it  is  quite  true  that  up  to  the 
présent,  O'SuUivan  hasalways  liked  his  chief  ;  but  the  g\ow 
that  fills  his  heart  as  he  listens  to  this  outburst  againsr  him 
is  not  one  of  resentment.      «  Then  may  I  ask  what  you  pro' 
pose  to  do  ?  "  J      f 

"I  could  teach  French,"  she  says,  the  anxious  tone  re. 
tummg,  «  or  German.  I  could  teach  vocal  or  instrumental 
music.     I  C0UI4  hp  a  governess." 

Mr.  O'Sullivan  looks  more  than  doubtful. 

"I  do  not  think  governesses  are  greatly  in  demand  in 
New  York,  and  the  niarket  is  drugged  with  maie  and  fe- 
male  teachers  of  French,  and  German,  and  music.  And 
then,  under  tfie  most  favorable  circumstan(^s.  it  tâkeS  time 

to  get  pupils.     I  hâve  thought  of  something "  he  pauses 

and  eyes  her  doubtfully.     "  But  maybe  you  may  think  il 
derogatory."  ^ 

"  Tell  me  what  it  is-do  not  hesitate.     I  will  do  anything 
anythmg  that  is  safe  and  honest  and  respectable,  for  a  living  '' 

'/ 1  admire  your  spirit,  mademoiselle-ifs  the  sort  to  sét 
along  with;  but  then,  sure,  you're  proud,  if  you'U  pardon 
niy  saymg  so "  ''         ^         . 

She  smiles  faintly.        , 

"  I  am  not  proud  about  work;  try  me  and  see.  And  any 
plan  you  propose  will  be  gôod,  I  am  sure.     What  is  it  ?  " 

"  Well  then,  'tis  this,"  says  Mr.  O'Sullivan.  «  I  hâve  a 
friend,  She  is  a  townswoman  of  my  own,  and  she  keeps  a 
nnhnery  establishment  on  Grand  street.  It  is  not  a  fashfon- 
.able.lûcality,aad^he'«  not^fashionabte  lrôrniTi7^nr  a  betl^-= 
créature  nerer  drew  the  brealh  of  life.  She'd  be  good  to 
you,  and  that's  what  ye  want;  she'd  let  you  live  with  her, 

'  '     "•  .  4I- 


I 


tAf    >  ,  iJj 


■•'N 


382 


».    -^ 


»EmE*S,  XNICHT. 


1 


%-^ 


"""-'  *  saiary,  and  somethin?  tn  i^n   ^..^  , 

same   is   a  blessina   wh^n        .  •  '  ^"^  ^"""^  ^'^at 

a  uicDbing   wnen   were  miserahl*»       tt  i-. 

Reme  clasps  her  hands  gratefuily. 

"  Monsieur,    it  is   the   very   thina      OK    i. 

«n  I  ever  prove  my  gratieude  ?  "  aeserve-ho» 

-ii^and  1°:  r'so"Vt"  'r'-  ""^  "^  "^'  "->-- 

an*^^gUtrW^r  "'"'k''^  •="  "^«■^  -"f- 

harsh.  and  unjus,  and  ^mo.Tp^'"'  ""  ^'°"=  "<=  -»  "= 

Immediately  after  breakfast  Mr    0'SnlI,v,n  ,  ir      ^     . 
and  rides  dow.  to  Grand  straet  Vo  th,  ^  ""'.™\f  "'"  f»«'', 

■nent  of  Mrs.  M.  Murph,     The  M  t""rf  *  ?"'"«*■ 

good  and  euphohiousZpL^^^'J- '"^f  ^f"  ^V'"^"'  " 


■in  eomun^aV...  I.M.T  ""rphy  and  miUinenr,  taken 


'4fcs 


^£Jt\r£*S  KNIGHT, 


Z^l 


want  yc  to  taie  an  apprentice      She',  ^  v       f  **'"S-        ^ 

dene..  wo„,d„.^  j.  tL  ::„":  ;ir ,?::;  '^r 

oarculars?    But  th^n   r  r  ,  '         *"®  half-yeârly 

i.'s  a  g.:.  .^;  •'■^;  '  ^"^^^  !■>:;,;-  »-.„■.  .pp  J 

■noney  ;  but  she  has  an  old  »itch  nf  »         j       . 

Murphy.  she's  a  fn/„d  ^nd  conXrio  "of  ^     ^'"''.^  ""• 
trench  yonng  Udy  of  taste  anT  T  °''"'  *"''  "''  * 

1 11  go  to  her,'  says  I,  •  this  very  minutE  '     A„^  h       ■  ^ 
and  such  a  chanrp  v™.'ii  ■=":' ™"'1««-     And  hère  I  am, 

is  Mary  M„rphy"  '        """.8?  ^Çt^*"^  ^""^  ■«^'= 

and  iooking  at  M^^h.wd1y  :,h':"j  ,  .7:;,,  "  ^^^Z 
some  devilment  ve're  UD  tn  ?     tm      .        S^jes.        is  this 
yc  re  up  to  j»     I  d  not  put  it  oast   ve       Or  « 
there  a  young  lady  in  (he  case  ?    If  there  .%  nonfl^f 
«onsense  n„„,  but  tell  me  ail  abou,  he^^     *      "^  °^  *""" 

as«v*^rL?r'^'u  ""P"^'  'f  "'^  "»'  *=  KO'P-'  >™th." 


Vi» 


II 


_j,i 


384 


REIATE^S  KNIGHT. 


are  arouse^s  a  great  many  interjected  "  Oh  I  the  crayture  I  " 
See  that,  now  1  "    «  Ah,  then  the  Lord  look  do^n  on  her  I  " 
g    betray.  .      ' 

Mrs.  M.  Murphy  is  a  lady  of  tender  heart  and  boundles? 
good   nature.      She   owes    Mr.    O'Sulii^n.   as   she   owns 

tkTLV  T^"^'^  '""■"'"  ""^  ''  ^^"  d'«P°«^d  ^°  oblige  hin-, 
TM  Mlle.  Landelle  kno.s  abaoTutely  nothbg  of  the  art  of 
millinery  is  a  drawback.  '«  ^ut  sure,  them  French  ladies  do 
al«rays  hâve  the  hoight  of  taste,"  is  what  she  adds  reflectively. 
An4  until  mademoiselle  has  acquired  the  rudiments,  it  wiU 
not  be  fa,r  to  ask  Mrs.  Murphy  to  remunetate  her,  and  imme- 
diately  a  pecuniary  transaction  passes  between  Ihe  friends  ' 
which  ehcts  from  the  lady  the  admiring  rfematk  •  <  ' 

"Sure,  then,  Mr.  O'SulIivan  it's  yours3!f  has^^t  a  stingy 
bone  m  your  body.  and  faith,  rn'bite  my  tûtgue  out  before 
I  ever  drop  the  laste  hint  of  it.  Maybe  then  'tis  .somethin' 
more  than  a  friend  this  same  young  lady  is  to  ye  "   ' 

"  Nothing  of  the  kind,  Mrs.  M.,»  says  O'Sullivan,  hastily. 
Don  t  ever  breathe  a  word  like  that  in  her  heari^. ,  Mind, 
she  s  none  of  your  common  sort,  but  a  lady  born  and  bred 
and  only  under  a  cloud  for  the  présent.  Také  care  of'her 
as  if  4^  were  your  o,vn  daughter.  and  l'il  never  forget  your 
good  nlture  m  this  as  long  as  I  live."  '  • 

The/  shake  hands  across  the   côunter,  and  he  départs. 
Mrs.  jjjqrphy  looks  after  him  until  he  is  out  of  sight 

"Ifsa^betterworld  it  would  be  if  there  were  mofe  of 
your  sort,  Mr.   O'SuUivan,"  she   soliloquizes.      «You're  a 

oÏTk"?',  k"'  Tl  ^  ""'"''  ^  >^°"  ^^^«"'^  »  ^^^  the  sue 
of  a  bushel  basket." 

O'SuUivan  returnsto  Reine,  jubilant  with  success.  '  Mrs. 

shewill  pay  h.,  a  stipend  of  eight  dollars  perweek  for  t'^e 
présent  and  more  as  she  becomes  proficient  in  the  profes. 

^o.^f  ê'-^^t'''  ^^''^^^'^^  *^"  da^mirablyfor  thr— 
young  lady,  and  she  is  to  go  to  her  new  home  this  vety  day. 


>  ■ 


1 1  the  crayture  I  '* 
k  down  on  her  1  " 

rt  and  boundles? 
,   as    she   owns, 
;d  to  oblige  hinj. 
ing  of  the  art  of 
''rench  ladies  do 
adds  reflectively. 
udiments,  it  will 
'her,  and  imme- 
2çn  the  friends,  ' 
itk  :  j         ■  ;    ■ 
liasij't  a  stingy 
ngue  out  before 
n  'tis  *somethio* 
o  ye." 

lullivan,  hastily. 
learihg. ,  Mind, 
born  and  bred, 
iké  care  of  her 
ver  forget  your 

id  he  départs, 
fsight. 

were  mtffe  of 
.  "You're  a 
heart  the  size 

iuccess.  Mrs. 
nch  assistant, 
week  for  f^«e 
in  the  profes* 
nirably  for  th6"^= 
this  very  day. 


]*/ 


flEIATE'S  KNIGHl. 


38s 


creaLeres-%r    '     'T  """■  ^''""'^--     "^o  better 
^^d  n^fin^'  P-tector-a-safer  and  happier  hon4.  you 

Ln'f  """L^^^u"^  ^°"  "^  '   ^''''  «^°^  >'«"  ^e  !"  is  ail  Reine 

t^z:iiïr\TXTT'  °^  ^-^^-^<^'-d,hafkr 

A^^O-^IHvan  sighs.      Prayers  are  very.good/so   are 

tIT  L      ^  ^-  ^''  "°'  ^"''"  ^»^^  ^^^"^"  he  ipngs  for  most 
Th^t,  however,  ,t  is  no  use  thinking  of-wh^n  we  caT„; 
hav^great,  we  n^ust  learn  to  be  thanL,  for  sn^Xerdes      ' 

An  hour  later.  and  Reine  is  taken  to  Grand  streeTan^the 
broad  maternai  boso;„  of  Mrs.  Murphy.  ^^ 

.  V.,o  „     "  ^"^  ^°"  return-to  Baymouth?"   she  asks  as  the 
),#Sulhvan  zs  about  to.take  his  departure.  '  ' 

York  th       r       7.™°''  ^"'"^^  ^"^  acquaintances  in-^NeJ 

content  in  your  new  home"        «'"'^  ^"'^  ^^"'^^  ^^ 
She  giyes  him  a  grateful  look.   ^  • 

Miss-HaHott,  -e:^  ^^hl^^ ^  1^  ^t  sa^^ 
send  her  always  my  dearest  love.  Marie  TwiUwrif,!"' 
and  for  the  rest,  I  hâve  no  friend."  ^  ^»"  wnte  to- 

•wérs  oltl'^''  «verything  you  say,  mademoiselle."  he    an 
■wers  quietly,  and  départi.  '  »     "^    *u 

«7  ■    S    -      ■ 


j  ' 


/ 


•n 


\ 


386 


:^ARIE  SPEAKS. 


A 


CHAPTER  XXyui. 

MAkiE   SPÉAKS.    - 


<P^ 


|r  thc  window  of  a  private  parler  of  a  Bojton  hôtel, 
Mlle.  Marie  Lantîelle  sits-gazing  out  at  the  throng 
passing  and  repassing  unintermptedly  up  and  down 
Treniont  sti^et.  Shè  is  dressed  in  white,  her  abondant  yel- 
low-red  hair  falls  in  a  crimped  glistening  shower  to  her  sjen- 
der  waist.  She  looKs  fair  enough,  lovely  enough,  serene 
.enough  for  some  white  Greuze  goddess,  as  she  sits.  ào 
thin.ks  Frank  Dexter,  coming  hastily  in  with  a  bundle  of  pap- 
ers  and  letters,  pausing  in  the  doorway  to  gaze  and  admire. 

See  her  as  often  as  he  may,  her  fresh,  fair  loveliness  cornes 
ever  upon  him  as  a  surprise.  At  a  littlo  distance  Mfs.  Dex- 
ter  reclines  on  a  lounge,  half  asleep. 

The  yachting  trip  has  been  incontirfently  eut  short  by  the 
sea  sickness  of  Miss  Landdle.  Oà  the  second  day  out  she 
declared  pathetically  she  must  be  brought  back,  or  die.  The 
trip  to  Georgia  by.sea  was  therefore  given  up.'to  Frank's 
profound  regret  ;  but  whether  by  sea  or  land,  so  long  as  Marie 
was  his  travèling  companion,  éarth  was  Elysium,  and  she  the 
niost  beautiful.  mortal  in  it.  ,       . 

"  Letters,  Frank  ?"  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  rising  on  her  elbow. 
*'  Any  for  me,  nfty  dear ?"  ♦ 

"  One  froirj  Baymouth,  from  Miss  Hariott,  I  opine.     None 
for  you,  Miss  Marie;     A  yaper  for  me,  in  Totty  Sheldon's 
VfTAmg~9.  Fhenia,  I  suppose.     As  if  any  one  safely  out  of 
^ymouth  ever  câred  to  hear  of  it  agaih." 
^=^*^l  car©.a great  deaV"  Says  Marierwitlï  oiie  of  hey  fainr 
•miles,     "  Read  us  the  Phénix  news,  Mr.  Frank.»* 


■;^ 


( 


ng  on  her  elbow. 


J 


MAkiR  SPEAKS. 


.387 


.        ^tT,  pleasflre,"  says   Frank,  Sriskiy.  and^take*  a  seat 
n^,  tears  off  the  wrapper  and  opens  the  shect.     "  Yes,  a 
Fhentx  ;  and  ^hat  is  this  marked^characters  of  blood  ?,  '^    - 
Blood  J  •  repeits  Miss  L^nddle,  startled. 
;  7f  '  "^^  ^^  then.   What  !  listen  to  this,  mademoiselle  ; 
^ten   to  thxs  ma^re  mh.     MDasta^dry  House-Breaking-A 
Bo  d  Burglary  1  '-they  spare  no  çapitals  in  the  PA^nix  office 
-  The  ManSiori-of  Mrs.'Windsor  Broken  into  and  RobbedV' 
By  Jove  J  " 

J^"^".  Tl  y^7^'  ^'^  ^  ^*'"'  ^^-  M^«-  ï>«ter,  also 
w  th  a  startled  look,  glanôes  up  fromher  letter.  Frank  ex- 
citedly  reads  on. 

,   "  One  of  the  boldest  and  most  daring  outrages  ever  perpe- 
trated  m  our.usually  peacefîîl  and  la^v-abiding  to^vn,  was  last 
night  commuted.     Thé  mansion  of  the  w^l  known  and  mes 
esteemed  lady,  Mrs.  Windsor,  was  feloniously  broken  into  at 
!:JZCy'  -----^^..nd  rob^ed  .f l^early  t^  thou. 

.     "The  money  had^nlybeen  paid  Mrs*  Windsor  on  the  pre- 
cedmg  even^ng,  and^how  the  burglar  had  obtained  his  kriowl- 
edgeof.^whereabouts  remains  a  mysterj..     An  opèn  back    " 
wmdow  showed  how  he  entered  and  escaped       - 

-H,s  entrance  a«>used  Mrs.  VVindsor  from  slumber.  when, 
with  a  danng  bmtahty  which  shows  he  came  prepared  fo     . 

Z  Z'T''  ^""•^^^•-'^  ^PP>M  a  sponge4turated 
with  chloroform  to  her  nostrils  and  stupefied  her  He^  then 
secured  his  booty  and  fled.       .      - 

town   as  on  the  mommg  follon^ng  the  robl?ery  he  absconc^ed 

by  the  earhes   tra.n,.and  has  nôt  since  been  heTrd  k     It  is 

h^ped  our  pohce  wiU  use  every  vigilance  in^ursuing  the  per- 

^^tor^this^udaciou^robb^^ 

^  * 

The  paper  drops  from  Frank's  hand  in  dismay      Ile  looks- 


.-,=^-1 


^ 


'v!' 


■h 


n 


à 


< 


tj 


^'"'^"  '•■ 


■^"^, 


388 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


at  Marie  and  ^ees  ner  «tting  in  her  chaii-white  asashes,  star 
^       ing  at  him  in  stony  silence  while  he  reads 

"  This  is  horribhi  !  "  he  says,  in  an  agitated  voice  ;  «  there 
must  be  some  strange  mistake.     They  can't  mean  Durand." 
Oh  !  dear  me/'  says  Mrs.  Dexter,  sitting  suddenly  up-- 

"«ht,  and  ga^mg  at  her  letter  ;'•  this  is  most  distressing.     I 
«ust  read  youlhis,  my  dear  llliss  Landelle.  for  she  tells  me 
.    to^^nditisreallyquiteshocking.     Listen  : 

"Mvn»»»iu       T^  "  Baymouth,  Oct.  loth. 

•nxie^  in^L  ,'*'^^' .^'^^^f  «  =  ^  ^'^  '<>  Xou  in  the  utmost  àîstress  and 
«uiety  m  the  hope  that  you  may  recdve  this  before  your  departure  for 
the  South.     Ifear  Miss  Lamlelle  must  return  im  Jdiately'nstead  o 
accompanymg  you,  as  you  mentioned;.he  intended  to  do.     Many  surpris- 
.ng  and  most  painful  things  hâve  ^curred  hère  during  the  past  three 

and  she  has  been  robbed-by  whom  is  .u,t  posi*ively  known.  but  rZ 
through  the  town  s.ys  M.  Léonce  Durand.  This'is  certJin-heTeft 
Baymouth  very  early  on  the  morning  following  the  theft.  and  has  net 
«nce  returned  The  police  are  at  présent  on  his  track.  Mrs.  Windsor 
tyrannical  and  unjust  as  usual,  accused  Mile.  Reine  of  being  accessory  tô 
the  fact,  m  language  so  violent  that  the  poor  child  was  obliged  to  leave 
^e  house  forever.  She  departed  Jate  at  night.  She  was  seen  at  the 
sation  m  company  with  Mr.   O'Sullivan.     Mr.  O'SuUivan  took  tw! 

o  throw  light  upon  the  affair.  and  as  a  matter  of  course,  ail  Baymouth 
isloudlytalk.pg  But  even  Baymouth,  noted  for  itsevlgos^p.taiks 
no  ^andal  of  Re.ne's  departure  with  this  gentleman.  He  fs  one  o  h 
«cept.onable  people  whodo  things  with  impunity  it  would  bc  ruin  for 
any  one  else  to  attempt.  He  has  undertaken  his  share  in  it  to  befrie!!^ 
^^i^     ReT-   ;  Ï^.''""'  understood_as  he  has  often  befriended 

furn      Ail  th.syou  had  best  tell  her  sister,  and  let  her  return  if  she  sees 
fit.     Lsay  nothi^  of  my  own  feelings,  although,  loving  Reine  as  I  do 

Lvr  r'"'  .  '  '^'  '  ^^^''-  «^p-'  '"^^  -"  --h Tout 

time,  I  reaiam,  my  dear  Mrs.  Dexter,  Yours  faithfully, 

V  Hestkr  Hariott." 


—  TUcre  wft.  a  bfief  sttence  cr  eonslemàSon:    M<)A^ 
son  look  at  eacb  otber.gerplexed  and  distressed.     Marie  ha. 


i\     H^.—*!»'li.>ylji 


/  Ifil., 


^; 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


irhite  as  ashes,  star 

ted  voice  ;  "  there 
't  mean  Durand." 
ting  suddenly  up.- 
ost  distressing,     I 
;,  for  she  tells  me 


40UTH,  Oct.  lOth. 
le  utmost  dîstress  and 
re  your  departure  for 
imediately  instead  of 
>  do,     Many  surpris- 
duriftgthe  past  three 
is  been  broken  ioto, 
y  known,  butrumor 
5  is  certain — he  ieft 
e  theft,  and  lias  not 
ck.     Mrs.  Windsor, 
>f  being  accessory  to 
vas  obliged  to  leave 
ihe  was  seen  at  the 
'Sullivan  took  twro 
las  not  yet  retumed 
)urse,  ail  Baymouth 
ts  evil  gossip,  taiks 
.     He  is  one  of  the 
t  wouid  bc  ruin  for 
ire  in  it  to  befriend 
as  often  befriended 
not  intend  to  re- 
:r  return  if  she  sees 
l'ing  Reine  as  I  do, 
will  reach  you  in 
thfully, 
rER  Hariott." 


389 


1.    Mother  and 
éd.     Marie  haf 


.V 


cbaracter  h^,   T?    ■  /  ^"'  °^  '"""S  will  and  resolute 

character  but  sKe  is  moved  now  as  fe«-  hâve  ever  seen  her 

Z  '".""f't"''"  "O"'"  """"erably  helpless. 

usuai      bhe  is  not  crymg,  but  there  is  m  exuression  in  h«r 
eyes  that  frightens  Frank.  '  |^  expression  m  her 

"I  must  5tart  for  Baymouth  hy  the  next  train      Will  vo» 
kmdly  see  to  everythine  Mr  Kr/ni,  a     t  ^  " 

ment      Tf  r  u.A        .  "^  ^    ^  ™"s'  "«'  lose  a  mo- 

ment.     If  I  had  been  there  this  would  never  hâve  happened  " 

btie,  scarcely  speaks  another  word  to  either.     She  goes  to  her 

^::\^r^:::^  ^^  --  i-  -- 

hTcl°„r  Sh       r""'",'"   "''  '"''""'  inquiriesabou 

!««!,  f  °  ,,  ^*^^*  "^  *^^s  often  noticed  that  rwculiar 
look  of  self-wiU  and  resolution  around  Marie  LaS^s 
.ou  andchm-it  has  given  character  to  the  .hol  ft  ^ 
but  he  has  never  seen  it  so  strongly  marked  as  no>v. 

They  reach  Baymouth.  The  October  night,  chill  and 
starry.hasfelen-lightsgleam  from  the  greaf  ringe  of  the 
Wmdsor  M,lls.  As^Frank  is  about  to  give  the  order  ^  h.' 
Stone  House.  she  abruptly  checks  him.  '  '°  !'^ 

Itll         T'  r^'"'  ^''  L°"«^orth.  at  tHis  hour  ?     Jr 
his  office  or  athisboarding-house?"  ,     r     ai 

''  Not'it  hf»'^'  ^'«'^^'"/-"'^  r-tums.  lookir^  at  his  watch. 

Not^tlns  boarding-house  certaiûly,^^^ 
efenines  there.     K.>h«r  af  *k^  ^a:__     .  ,-.    *7*r  «Penas  nw 


■J 


S^i.f------^=:^ 


■»    ! 


f   , 


^iU*'V» w jl^.  f 'i' -.«  ."]i;.i  i 


^^  MARIE  SPEAKS. 

\  "  Let  us  tiy  the  office  first,"  she  says,  and  the  young  man 
gives  the  ordej-  and  they  are  driven  to  the  Phtnix  building. 
It  too  is  m  a  State  of  immense  illumination.  Dexter  geta 
out,  goes  m,  and  returns  almost  immediately. 

"  Longworth  is  hère,  MUe.   Marie  ;  I   will  take  you  up  te 
nisroom."  /         f 

.  She  pulls  the  vail  she  wear«  over  her  face,  and  follows 
Frank  up  a  long  flight  of  stairs  and  into  the  room  sacred  to 
U  Sullivan.  Frank  taps  at  another  door  and  Longworth's 
voice  cuUs  come  in.     ' 

"  It  is  I,  Larry,"  he  says,  and  Longworth  tums  round  from 
his  wntmg  and  looks  at  him.  "  Miss  Landelle  is  hère— has 
just  amved  and  wishes  to  see  you:  Mademoiselle,  I  wUl 
wait  for  you  in  the  hack." 

She  puts  back  l^emraiî  an^.  advances. 

Longworth  rises,'something  of  surprise,  something  of  stem- 
ness,  a  great  deal  of  coldness  in  his  manner.  He  is  uncon- 
scious  of  it.  If  he  has  thought  of  the  elder  sister  at  ail,  it  is 
to  be  sony  for  her,  and  yèt  the  deep  anger  and  resentment 
he  feels  shows  itsplf  in  his  manner  even  to  her. 

"Sit  down,"  he  says,  and  places  a  chair.  «I  suppose 
Miss  Hanotf  s  letter  reached  Mrs.  Dexter,  and  that  is  why 
you  are  hère.  She  told  me  she  had  written.  It  is  rather  a 
pity  your  pleasure  trip  should  be  eut  short  by  thèse  untoward 
events."  -, 

There  is  a  touch  of  sarcasm  in  his  tone.     He  is  character 

reader  enough  to  know  that  Mjss  Marie   Landelle  has  a 

tolerably  strong  share  of  selfishness,  and  wfli  feel  any  mis- 

fortune  that  touches  her  own  comfort,  keenly.     But  she  feels 

thls  far  more  than  he  is<lisposed  to  give  her  crédit  for 

"Mr    Longworth,"  she  says  eamestly,  «why  has  Reine 
gone^"  ' 

"Miss  Landelle,  need  you  ask?    Did  not  Miss  Hariotr 
^re  ^plickly^  enougM^     Be<.m«e   Monsienr  coinmîtfer- 
the  robbery,  and  she  was  liresent  at  the  time?  ' 


N 


</"" 


MAXIS  SPEAirs. 


391 


"  Présent  at  the  time  ?     Do  you  mean  to  say  Reiûe  aided 
him  m  robbing  Madame  Windsor?  " 

j;  Mademoiselle,  thèse  questions  are  very  painfnl.    You 
oblige  me  to  tell  the  truth.     Yes.» 

" My  grandmother  believes  this ?" 

"  She  does." 

"  You  believe  this,  Mr.  Longworth  ?  " 

"  I  hâve  no  alternative.  Miss  Landelle  " 

She  is  still  for  a  while,  silently  looking  at  him  as  if  trymg 
to  read  hm,  as  she  sits  there,  impassive,  inflexible,  coldly 
stern  before  her.  .  ' 

"Monsieur,"  she  says,  lean^  a  little  forward,  the  flood 
of  gas-hght  falhng  on  her  beautiful,  colories?  face,  "wili 
you  answer  me  a  question  ?  You  asked  my  sister  to  marry 
you— did  you  love  her  the  least  in  the  world  ?  "  , 

M  dechne  to  answer  that  question,  Miss  Landelle."  * 

"You  need  not,"  she  says,  contemptuously;  «you  could 
not  love  any  one.  But  surely,  without  love,  you  might  hâve 
trusted  her.     What  had  she  done  to  be  thought  a  thief  ?  " 

"  Perhaps  you  wiU  inquire  next,  mademoiselle,  by  what 
nght  we  stigmatize  your  friend  and  hers  by  that  opprobrious 
epithet— why  we  dare  brand  Durand  as  a  robber  ?  " 

"No,?' she  says,  sudden  profound  émotion  in  her  tone  • 
no,  I  know  too  welh  what  was  his  motive  and  temp. 
tation.  But  that  you  should  doubt  Reine-believe  Ker 
guilty  of  crirae-yes,  that  indeed  bewilders  me.  How 
could  any  one  look  in  her  face  and  believe  her  guUty  of  anv 
wrong?"  j 

"  MademoiseUe,  we  learn  as  we  grow  oMer  '  haw  fair  an 
outs.de  falsehoodhath;'  your  sister  stands  condemaed  ont 
ofherownmouth.'?  ^  • 

"  What  did  she  confess  ?  " 

"i^Ll^^^^ccL^her  re 


Hiequèsdbns  that  she  was  with 
robbery." 


'hen  he  committed  thif 


^1 


'^1 


392 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


Marie  still  sits  and  looks  at  h,-,«  -  »      i.     ^ 
face  .hat  re„,i„ds  him  of  Reb.  "'        "''  ■"  '""■  '"  •«■ 

silen.  .„  .peZg  faite"'  -.'"  '^  ^^^  ^"^  ^^"'"'^  ^'»<«»* 

-rci^sr.'fuere'sh  ■^"■^■r^'''""  ^°"«- 

lover.»  i'       °"y,      ^' ^east  she  wrould  not  betray  her 

-:h^ot:r„r  ;re°  r;  it  r:  ""-  ^.^  '-"•  -^ 

^cou^^tnr.^elr^Jl^""  "-^^  ''•    H-  -et  „r 

He  says  it  with  a  passionate  eestnr,»  tKof    k 
pain  this  self-repressed  m.n  .»     f  '  "'^^^'^at  shows  her  the 

-n.a„a..ri:Tjatt:r.:rrj-t 
S;..  '"  '"'  r-  *""'  ^^'-  --^  nôirrr 

" ^"'l  *'s  TOuld  be  a  falsehood ?" 
"The  falsest  of  ail  falsehoods." 

her'htttfr  'S  '1°"°  ""'  •'"='^™  "•  ''«"'i  >"•■»  eau 


"I  i»>me,Bb.,  ftem^welV  Longworft  „emly  .„swer. 


h  of  scom  in  hei 

lîot  stick  at  a  lie. 

tell  falsehoods  to 

preferred  standing 

s  motives,"  Long- 
Id  not  betray  her 

rue  as  truth  itself 
Monsieur,  pardon 

Her  secret  of 

t  shows  her  the 
piteofhim.  She 
slowly  over  her 

'ife  of  Léonce! 
nsieur,  I  beg  of 
she  has  never 
extraordinary  a 
not  tell  a  false- 


heard  him  call 
d  not  deny." 
^e  not  known 
■  is  a  terrible 
me  the  exact 
:e  spoke—for 
d  hâve  called 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


393 


•nily  answerK 


they  were  words  not  easily  forgotten.  It  was  the  nigbt  of 
the  theatncals-you  remember  it_the  placeMiss  Hariott's 
garden.  He  was  excited  that  night-ypu  probaWy  remember 
tHat  also,  for  I  sawyou  were  annoyed— and  Consequently  off 
guard.  The  wOrds  were  thèse—'  I  will  not  go.  I  had  the 
nght  to  come,  I  hâve  the  right  to  stay.  I  will  not  go  and 
leave  my  wife  to  be  made  love  to  by  another  man.'  Could 
anythmgbeplainer?" 

"And  you  heard  no  more— not  Reine's  reply  ?  " 
"  I  heard  no  more  ;  Iwishedtohear  no  more.     Thefollow- 
mg  evenmg  I  sought  out  your  sister,  upbraided  her  with  her     ' 
falsity,  and  told  her  what  fhad  heard." 

«And'she?"  Marie  asks,  clasping  her  hands,  "what  said 
she  r 

i:.  "  Not  one  word.     Let  me  do  your  sister  this  justice,  ma-      ^ 
demoiselle  :  when  she  is  found  out  she  never  attempts  futile 
vmdication.     She  accepts  discovery  and  does  not  add  to 
treacheiy  by  lies." 

"Oh  I  "  Marie  says,  bitterly,  «you  are  indeed  without-plty 
or  raercy-you  are  indeed  a  stem  and  cruel  man.     My  little 
one  I  my  little  one  !  what  hâve  I  not  made  you  suffer-what 
shame,   what  pain,  what  humiliation.       And  Léonce  tool   ' 
Ah,  Reme  has  paid  dearly  for  the  keeping  of  a  secret." 

"Secrets  are  like  firebrands,  mademoiselle,  we  can't  ex-  ' 
pect  to  cany  them  about  and  go  unscorched.  But  in  your 
commisération  for  you,  sister,  are  you  not  talking  a  little 
wildly.  Miss  Landelle?  If  a  wife  weaves  her  little  plot  to 
wm  an  mhentance,  and  fools  men  into  making  her  offers  of 
mamage^ "  ' 

"Monsieur,  be  silent  !    You  hâve  said  enough.     Reine 
Landelle  , s  no  man's  wife  ;  she  is  pure,  and  tni«,  and  inno- 
cent  of  ail  wrong  as  an  angel." 
ffg  regards  her  frowniag^ldoubt.  { 


rainstacsr 


What  do  you  mean  ?    Am  I  not  to  believc  what  my  ow^ 


/■ 


ears  hear,  what  nay  own  eyes  see  ?  " 
17* 


*  À:ài^  *  , 


';& 


rmm^. 


'**•**•»'■»*■•««  .^, 


394 


MAXIS  SPEAJCS. 


■'b 


''*-■■ 


If  your  ears  tell  you  she  is  faIse-„o  I  if  your  cyes  that 
«he  «  not  what  she  claims  to  be-no  1  a  hundred  Jes  no  I 
I  tell  you  she  ,8  no  man's  wife,  and  I  think  shehas  reason  t^ 
rejoice  she  will  never  be  yours." 

"  Enough  of  this  mystery  !  "  Longworth  exclaims,  rising  in 
angry  impatience.     «  Speak  out  the  whole  truth.  or  do  not 

:p:ke:fp^.'  ^"^  "^^"-^'^  ^^^"'^  ^^  ^^^  ^--<î 

J^She  is  herel    I  am  Léonce  Durand'si^ost  wretched 

"  You  I  »  he  stands  stunned  ;  he  looks  at  her  in  blank  si- 
.     lence.     «  You  /  Mademoiselle  Marie;"  ' 

"  I  am  not  Mademoiselle  Marie~I  hâve  deéeived  you  ail 
I  own  it  now  when  it  is  too  late.  I  came  to  this  place  Lé- 
once  Durand  s  wife,  and,  as  you  say,  for  the  sake  of  an  in- 
hentance,  denied  it."     ' 

bok  of  utter  amaze,  but  with  it  mingles  a  flush  of  swift,  half 
mcredulous  hope. 

JOfyou  only  say  this,"  ht  begins,  "  to  vindicate  your  si» , 

"  Bah  I  that  is  not  like  your  customary  ^und  sensé,  Mr. 
^ngworth     a™  I  Ukely  to  do  that  ?    ReL  is  of  the  kbd 
to  make  sacnfices,  to  be  faithfui  .„  death  through  11  things- 
not  I.     You  are  glad  that  I  hâve  told  you  this-yes.  I  see 
you  are.  and  when  ail  is  ixplabed,  and  you  «an  doubt  no 
longer,  you  wll  cease  to  doubt,    You  will  even  be  ready  to 
fo.lB.ve  her  for  havng  been  falsely  «:cused  and  condemned, 
and  condescend  to  take  her  back.     But,  monsieur,  if  I  know 
'^  s,ster,  she  will  not  co,ne  back.     Faith  céases  t^  be  a  4 

tmst  her  because  doubt  has  become  i«,po,«tle,  wh^re  is 
your  n,er.,  as  a  lover  and  a  «end  ?  Rein.  wiU  not  return 
toyou.    She»^ou4^andxou  havehun.bledhertothf-ve.y  ^ 


■-\.té-:-:.    ■  :      i,- 


-h 


F  your  eyes  that 
idred  times  nol 
ihehas  reason  tçl^ 

i 
cclaims,  rising  in 
;ruth,  or  do  not 
le  wife  Durand 

npost  wretched 

er  in  blank  si- 

r  ■'■ 

îèeived  you  ail. 
this  place  Lé- 
sake  of  an  in- 

3s  that  stunned 
1  of  swift,  half 

icate  your  si& 

nd  sensé,  Mr. 
is  of  the  kind 
;h  ail  things — 
is—yes,  I  see 
;an  doubt  no 
ïï  be  ready  to 
1  condemned, 
îur,  if  I  know 
îs  to  be  a  vir- 
i  in  her,  and 
ble,  where  i& 
U  not  return 
aarloih^veiy  — 


MARIB  SPEAKS. 


395 


lament  her^  and  I  am  glad  of  it.     Yes  1  monsieur,  I  say  it  to 
your  face-I  am  glad  of  it     You  do  not  deserve  her,  you 
never  did.     She  is  an  angel  of  goodrîbss,  and  fidelity,  and 
truth— and  you  are— what  are  you,  Mo^ggur  Longworth  ? 
What  is  the  man  who  accuses  and  hunts  down  a  helpless 
gu-1  -the  girl  he  has  asked  to  be  his  wife  ?     Do  you  suffer  ? 
,  Well,  I  am  glad  of  that  too  ;  you  deserve  to  suflFer.     Listen, 
and  I  wiU  tell  you  ail  the  truth^the  truth  which  Reine  knew 
and  which  she  might  hâve  told,  and  so  «aved  herself.     ^t 
she  would  not,  for  a  promise  bc^nd  her.     She  loved  me  and 
Léonce,  and  was  true  to  us.     Listèn  hère  !» 

It  is  évident  Marie  can  speak  when  she  chooses,  habitu- 
ally  silent  as  she  is.  Ail  her  languor,  aU  W  indolent  grâce 
of  manner  are  swept  away,  anxl  her  words  flow  forth  in  a 
stemless  torrent.  Deep  excitement  bums  in  her  steadfast  ' 
eyes,  her  hands  are  tightly  clasped  in  her  lap,  two  spots  of 
color  gleam  feverishly  on  her  cheeks. 

For  Longworth,  he  sits  mute  and  stricken,  like  aman  who 
,  listens  to  his  own  sentence  of  doom. 

"  Yç>u  know  this  much  of  our  history,  Mr.  Longworth^  that 
I  Irved  with  my  father  in  London,  and  Reine  went  when  a 
child  to  our  Aunt  Denise  Durand  in  Riouen.  She  and  Léonce 
grew  up  together,  she  loving  him  with  an  innocent,  admiring, 
sisterly  affection.  He,  at  the  âge  of  seventeen,  taking  il 
into  his  foohsh  boy's  head  that  he  was  in  love  with  her.  It 
was  nonsense,  of  course,  and  she  laughed  at  him,  and  in, a 
^t  of  pique  he  left  home  and  came  over  to  pay  his  first  visit 
to  us,  tô  my  father." 

3he  pauses  for  a  moment  with  a  wistful,  saddened  look,  as 
if  ^the  memôiy  of  that  first  meeting  arose  bêfore  her  reproach- 

For  Longworth,  tbere  comes  to  him  another  memory— the 
memoiyofthe  scène  b^r  the:  garden  wall.  wfaere  be  ad«^-^ 


Kemejfiat  impenous  question,  "Was  Durand  ever  you| 
tevcr  ? .    4iid  the  low,  earnest  vcjice  that  answexed,  and  that 


î 


%^ 


s.'  *M 


396 


MMJI/E  ifEAJCS. 


he  refaM  to  belfcvc:     "I.  w»s'  onlv  far,cy_he  w^s  but  . 

boy-h.  ,„  .00  ypung  ,„  be  a„y  onk  lover."  ' 

Even  then  she  had  been  ttue  as  Juth  ;  and  he-*ell  he 

bTn  u^^'v      \      ""'  ""^  comin»  destruction  must  hâve 
other  Zy.  '  •"  ^  ""'''"'""''  ''''  "-""'O  fo"/  i"  no 

teu'yo^  wl^f  ^'■'T'r'^'  '"  *"  ="">-  '  "■"  f"«<l  '»■ 

!!/„       ?  "f  "'«"  h'retnraedtoRouenhewas  roy  lover 
vh  tT;"^"'"' '•    "  '^  °"  ""'  "««!»«.  for  thou™h  iTad 
We  *d  :r  °7  "  """•  ^'°"«  ""''  'l««ï»  been  absent 

eTregular,;    TL'dT-      7  ^"  *"''  ""'  ^*  ^-^P"»"- 
u  reguiar  y     i  ,ked  him  always.     I  «as  never  a  verv  ro- 

«.dnoonehaseversupplaute.JhimtothUday.  ^ 

Well,  our  hves  and  year,  went  on.     Aunt  Denise  wished 
Léonce  to  beconie  a  lawver  but  drv  c.a- 
his  taste      H.  k,^  .     ^  ""*''  "ère  never  to 

n.s  taste      He  had  a  voice  and  a  face  that  ail  the  world  told 
htm  ™^h.  „,ake  a  fortune,  and  he  was  ready  ioZ  t  be 

lel.Xsi^r^A'r^'  ^"^  '"«"^^  «ke-se  for  *: 
tt«de  h.s  lirst  appearance  and  «-as  suciessfût  But  succès 
r  ^1■^"^^<»•  •  Léonce  in  its  sunshine  develop^S 
that  nearly  broke  his  mpthefs  heart.  He  bécane  by  sTÔ" 
degrees,  but  surely,  a  gan,bler,  until  a.  la,,  he  alm'st  entfreh 
r'  ""  "l'?»*  '"^  *=  •^We  of  the  croupier      H^wa 

Neither  ™y  father  nor  I  Lew  In"  rhin^of    "ittlu^Z- 
«ym  .^  "-"defen»     His  pocieU^ Ja^'^lX^ 


™>nq-,  T«  «.  u.™,u,  d„^  i„  „,^  _^^  5^f«hion 


,.  ■« 


>^«l«tj,-j  j  ^»    V^      f "'-Hm.**  li 


-y — he  was  but  a 


ttAKIE  SPBAKS. 


397 


Tl      """"f  !  ■"  ™''«  »"  hi»  ™™»y  in  hi.  profession.    W. 

were  engaged,  bue  secretly.    Papa  was  ambidous  for  me  and 

hough    I  m,gh.  do  beuer  ,han  marry  a  mère  singer,  ànd"e 

P  2'"f  *"  ";'""  ^""'  Denise  „or«l„'ewo„W 
approve.   So  we  met  oftenànd  held  our  peace  and  were  qui.e 

be";:!'::  *'"  ""  ""'  d-bact-Léonce  was  i^feS  [o 

"  Ourhouse  was  well  filled  with  artists  of  al!  kindsi  and  men 
of  a  niuch  higher  s«:ial  grade.  And  I-well,  monsi^  I  did 
notappearo^en,  bu.I  was  heldasasor,  of  belle,  n,aSelch 
of  accord.„gly.  and  Wonce  grew  at  ti™es  n,„Jdily  jealous 
Heneverhadany  cause,  . bat  IwiU  say;  I  cared  for  bta 
only,  and  he  knew  it.  Still  the  jealousy  was  there,  and  we 
quarreled  and  parted,  and  met  again  and  made  up,  after  Z 
usual  foohsh  fashion  of  loyers. 

wai-'b^AnT.  ""  """  "h^"  Aunt  Denise  died,  and  the 
«T,«fr  ■  ''*°"«,''^"'  ^"''y an'ong the  first,  and  I  learned 
at  last  m  nuse^r  and  sickening  fear,  how  dear  he  was  to  me 

and  il  T::'""  •  '  ""'""'  ^  •^""""  '""'•  Months  passedl 
and  al^ough  he  was  a  prisoner  he  was  safe  and  wellfand  I 

stouMba""  ''  "'•!'■'''"'  *"'  ""^  ''«■»"  «8^in  " 
sboudhave  noground*  for  jealousy.-^om  me,  that  î  would 
be  an  be  most  exacfng  lover  would  require.   Before  he  came, 

btd  rj  '^^  V  ""''  "^  '"*"«'  '"  **  "'^'  of  ^«"«  and  mysel 
^^ttZf7~"'"u'"''"  ""'^    Anddyihg,hiswish'™    ■ 
.bat  we  should  come  hère.     It  was  the  duty  of  our  mother's 

n     t,"^,;  V  r"^*  '"  ""  Fanddaughters.    I  thought 

ed  for  a  hfe  of  luxury  and  ease.  It  was  my  right  to  bave  it 
«..ce  my  grandmother  was  so  wealtby  a  woman'  SterànS 
hardshem,ghtbe-bow  stem  and  hani,  poor  aiHng  mammr 

=53fwA"°f  f  -  and  surely.  fo3i^^h^^,,4h,j_ 
not  tum  &r  daugbter's  chiidren  from  the  doon 

Tfou  lee,  I  did  not  do  justice  to  Madame  Windarfi 


^•^ 


\      -7 


398 


MARIE  SPBAKS. 


for  you,  Mr.   Longworth,  she 


strëngth  of  character.     But 

would  hâve  donc  even  that.  I  had  written  a  letter  of  fare- 
well  to  Léonce,  and  we  ^hàd  '  made  ail  our  préparations  for 
departure,  wheh  he  suddenly  appeared. 

"  Me'  opposed  my  determîhation  by  every  argument  and 
-entreaty  he  could  urge.     Wealth  was  very  well,  but  there 
were  things  in  the  world  better  than^  wealth.     Forcing  our- 
selves,  as  we  were  about  to  do,  upon  a  relative  who  scorned 
and  despised  us,  what  could  we  expect  but  a  life  of  misery? 
"  Reine  jôined  him  ;  her  répugnance  to  the  project  was 
ihvincible  from  the  first.     But  my  resolution— my  obstin^cy, 
Léonce  called  it— was  not  to  be  shaken,  and  he  grew  so  pas- 
sionately  excited  and  ehraged  at  my  persistenee,  that  to  ap- 
pease  him,  I  proniised  to  grant  the  désire  ôf  his  heaçt  and 
marry  him  secretly  before  I  left  London. 
,  ''*  He  had  urged  it  before,  but  I  never  would  listen.     I 
liked  my  lover,  but  I  disliked  the  thought  of  a  husband  with 
power.to  control  and  command^tne.     StiH  I  knew  Léonce 
well  ehough  in  his^  jealous  temper,  to  be  yery  sure  that  this 
was  the  onl5r  way  to  prevent  his  accompar^ying  us  ^cross  the 
océan,  and  ruining  ail  our  plans.     I  made  two  stimulations  : 
the  first,  th^t  Reine  should  not  know  until  I  saW  fit  to  tell 
her*';  thç  second — a  solemn  one — this,  that  no  n^atter  how 
long  we  should  be  obliged  to  stay  apaf^-l^ç  would  Inot  fbllow 
us,  but  would  trust  me,  and  beVcotttent  to  know  that  I  was 
bound  to  him  irrevocably,^  and  wait.  *  -  » 

"  He  pledged  himself  to  both  ;  he  would  hâve  plédged 
himself  to  anything  to  make  me  his  wife.  Wj;  weré  marrie^  \. 
on  the  day  we  left  Lôndon  for  Liverpool.  I  went  out  early 
in  thè  morning  and  was  quietly  nîju-ried,  unknown  to  Reine. 
He  returned  with  me  home,  ^aw  after  our  luggage,  drove 
with  us  to  the  station;  and  we  both4hook  hands  with  him 
'there,  and  so  parted.  He  pleaded  to  accompany  us  ttf 
Liverpool,  but  I  would  not  consent  _>. 


*'The  cap'4iQ  Qf  the  Hes^iena  was  vc^y  father's  friend;  foi 


ni»,».™».!!*.'      '«■ 


■■>, 


ei'sfiiend;  foi 


■  V 

M4MIB 


\ 


'S. 


) 


399 


my  fathei^s  sake  he  promised  to  meet  usât  the  Livlrpool 
tenn^nus.  and  take  charge  of  us  until  we.  Unded  at  New 

"And  now,  monsieur,  I  corne  to  Reine'sshare.in  mv  most 
unfortunate  secret     On  the  day  but  one  before  weTInded 
I  confessed  to  her  ail,  my  secret   marriage  and  Léonce 
pro^se.    She  listened  in  .onder  and  the  deepest  regre'w 

Mane,'  aie  said.  '  he  will  not  keep  his  wor^^    He  is  as 
unstableas  water.     When  you  least  think  it,  he  willgrow  tired 
wau.ng  foIW  you,  and  '  overthro^^^  ail  your  plans.""  I  kno. 
him  well;  ^uher  promise  nor  principle  will  bind  him  where  " 
his  love  and  jealousy  §tand  in  the  way.'  ^ 

"3he  said  tnily;  she  did  knon^  him  well.     Then  she  in    . 
turn  became  confidential,  and  told  me  he  was  a  confirmed 
gambler. 

"  *If  I  had  only  told  you  before,'  she  sard,  with  deepest 

regret  and  sel^reproach,  '  this  fatal  marriage  might  never  l^ve 
aken  place  ;  but  Léonce  is  sq  dear  to  me.  that  even  to  you 
I  hated  tp  speak  pf  hi^  faults,   tif  I  had  only  dreamed  of  this 
1  might  hâve  saved  yoù.'     y        ;    ,  ^ 

"But  regrets  were  too  late.  1  looked  forward,  too,  with 
ho^e  ;  if  ail  turned  out  ag  I  bdieved,  and  our  grandmother 
made  us  her  heiresses,  thf  temptation  to  gamble  would  be 
removed.  A.  thé  husbànd  of  a  rich  wiff.  gambling  hells 
would  surely  offer  no  attraction.  I  bound  Reine  to  s^«ecy. 
and  how  well  she  has  kept.my  secret,  at  what  costéo  her^ 
self,  you,  Mn^ongworflî,  know.  / 

"  We  landed;  ôf  that,  and  our  coming  hère,  youj/now  ail. 
On  that  very  first  evening.  Madame  Windsor  coldly  and 
sternly  mformed  us  that  you  wére  her  heir,  that  our  being 
allowed  tù  corne  to  her  house  at  ail  was  your  doing  You 
may  miagine  how  pleasant  suçh  intelligence  w^  to  us  both. 


Cf  i     t7,     'P^  •  ""^  '""'■^  ^"^^'  ***  ^*«  »  great  point 
ÏWed.    l  fçjt  gr^tfiful  ^  ygy,  É?j:  wl»t  you  \^  dPQP,     j, 


ï-.'-Jiir'iïj^^ftfît    ff'i,.' 


X, 


A 


». 


400 


^ARIE   XPEAKS. 


would  go^hard  wuh  me  I  thought,  if  I  could  not  induce  ou. 
grandmother  eventually  t<»  change  her  mind.  and  alter  that 
uniast  w,lL  rrhén.  monâeur,  arose  our  second  dilemma- 
yoawTshed  fomaï^ry  one  of  us.  We  were  ordered  peremp- 
torily  to  accept,  whea  you  saw  fit  to  propose,  under  pain  of 
immediatç  expulsion.  Reine  was  brave  for  herself,  but  she 
trembled  for  me.  She  loves  me,  monsieur,  as  few  sisters  love. 
Can  you  wonder  we  both  hopcd  she,  not  I,  would'  be  the  one 
-selected.     From  the  first  almost,  I  fdt  sure  of  it     I  could 

!^Ht',rT'^^''"'"'^'**"°^^°"«^""-  Her  very  hauteur 
and  dislike  of  you  seemed  to  draw  you  on.  That  dislike  at 
the  first  was  very  sincère,  but  she  was  too  just  of  judgment 
and  generous  of  Ifeart  for  it  to  last.  It  faded  little  by  little 
and  something  else  came  in  its  gkce.  When  you  did  speak,' 
Mh  Longworth,  when  you  di^ift  her  to  be  yourwifè,  she 

Wlf7^''  ^^  '  '''^'"'''  ^""^  ^  '^'""^  ^"^P"^«^  «^^" 

Longworth  lies  back  in  his  dhair,  his  arms  folded,  his  brows 

knit,  his  eyes  fixed,  at  first.sternly  onher  face,  fixed  now 

sTIh  ^?K    /    °°''-     ^'  ^"  ^^^""  *^^'  night  and  under. 
,^and  for  the  fir.t  tmie  the  words  that  surprised  him  thea^ 


% 


Smce  u  had  to  be  one  of  us  I  am  glad  I  am  the  one.'/ 
She  was  too  mnocently  frank  even  to  hide  that. 
.mssion  was  not,  as  he  had  flattered  himself,  bc 
cared  for  him  more  than  she  k»,  but  because 

exposure  and  expulsion  would .  hâve  foUowed  his^ 
Mario.  ♦. 

^^\^^  ^^  marryyôu;  she  consented,"  pursues 

fatffe-f^^d  ail  went  well,    I  am  not  hère  to  bei-ay  my 

1.  do  lî^t  desôrve  to  see  it  ;  but  you  are 

-  !£â^^'''  '°  ^"**"'  ''^^  ^^^^  ^*^  Icarning 

to  honqp«rfr  to' trust  in  you,  to  be  proud  0/ 
virarm,  generous  heart. 
_«^en^came  XéoBce,aad  from  the  firsl  moment  he  ap. 
Peared  you  ki^ow  how  weU  ypu  requited  that  trust.    Yxîd 


^ 


#';.t.. 


i^^jf 


/ 


401 


moment  he  ap- 
h&t  trust.    Yxrà 


JlfAJf/£  SP£AjrS.  ^, 

Sèith'r  ti,""^":  r  ""  '■™-  «■«  '»■<'  ^o-  - 

Jyou  can  I    She  confessed  nothiiK  to  me  ■  no  vol,  La 

ened  to  betray  me  to  Madame  Windsor      I  h^H.  u      7 

her  whole  h«rt.  sh'e  ye,  had  .o  bear^  brun,  of  ou  f    y1 
S     Sh.    "  ",'  "r  ''"''  ""-*"'■  'oo,X  had    o 

underStand  now.     I  wa.  the  wffe  "he  meant-Mr  Dexte^  î 


j 


,■1'   ".      »    »'flî^K-s.'. 


fc*'','. 


jpptll'ff^^ 


'ffWiSlUNiiiii  .•*„.«_ 


402 


MARIE  SPEAKS. 


"That,  I  subpose,  was  the  last  drop  in  his  cup  of  bitter 

ness  and  jealoulsy.     His  money  was  gone,  he  desired  to  fol- 

low  and  wreak  what  vengeance  I  cannot  tell  ;   and  reckless 

^^and  desperate  entered  Madame  Windsor*  s  house  and  stole 

her  money.      Reine  may  hâve  discovered   him,   J  do   not 

know.     It  may  very  easily  hâve  been  so.     While  his  crime 

broke  her  heart,  was  she  likely  to  betray  the  brother   she 

loyçd  ?    Oh  !   my  littîe  sister,  my  Reine,   my  Reine  1    what' 

ydu  must  hâve  endured  standing  bêfore  your  pitiless  judges 

and  cast  ofifwith  scorn  and  insuit!     In  niglit  and  stealth, 

like  a  guilty  créature,  she  had  to  fly  and  the  good  God  only 

knows  what  is  her  fate.     Oh  !    Mon  Dieu  /  Mon  Dieu  I    it 

breaks  my  heart  only  to  think  of  it.' 

She  covers  her  face  with  her  hands  and  weeps  passionately 
aloud.     Longworth  starts  to  his  feet,  goaded  by  her  tears 
■"and  reproaches,  by  the  far  morè  maddening  reproaches  of 
his  ow»  Jieart,  almost  beyond  endurance. 

"  For  Heaven's  sake,  stop  I  "  he  says,  hoarsely,  «  I  cannot 

I  .,         .  stand  thisi     I  hâve  been  ad d  fool,  and  you  havp  been 

from  the  first  to  the  last  one  of  the  most  utterly  selfi^fa  and 
heartless  women  that  ever  drew  breath  !  " 

"  I  know  it  !     I  know  it  î  "    she  says  between  her  sobs  ; 
"no  need  to  tell  me  that.     In  blaming  you  I  do  not  spare 
myself,  but  what  will  ail  our  self-reproach  avail  to  help  h«r, 
whose  heart  we  hâve  broken." 

He  walks  up  and  down  the  rooiu.  Hi^  face  is  startlingly 
pale,  his  eyes  are  full  of  remorse,  and  paiii,  and  shame,  but 
his  habituai  self-control  does  not  désert  him.  He  stops  at 
last,  suddenly,  before  her. 

"  What  do  ^'mean  to  do  ?  "   he  coldly  asks. 
She  lifts  her  head  and  faces  him.     Her  tears  hâve  ceased, 
she  looks  composed  and  resolute  once  more. 
*•  To  go  from  hère  to  my  grandniother,  and  confess  to  her 


-wbrt-l^tetyeconfcsscdtOTOtf 

"What  good  will  that  do  ?  "   he  demand^-almosr  roughly  ; 


,  t 


«ia^fe»   »  .'-«i  îàt  : 


j.S^ 


■nfi  ..'ï,; 


"  Then  do  u  she  would  hâve  you  do.  You  haie  thouihi 
ofyourselflong  enough-think  of  oAers  a  11."  "Jf 
;^u  are  thrus.  ou.  homeless  and  penniless,  will  i.  aSdTo  Ji 
«s.e^s  happine^s  ?  Grea<er  evU  canno.  befall  her  ZIZ 
aiready  unless  y„„  «,„  are  spUméd  and  cas.  adrtf" 

As  I  may  be  in  any  case,"  Marie  says,  sadly. 
_     No,  I  do  no.,  .hink  so.     I  hâve  seen  Mrs.  Windsor  • 
she  bear.  you  no  malice.     ÏWuplayed  your  par.  so  wéll 
ha.  you  deceived  even  her  sharp  eyes.    She  gives  you  cr!^ 
or  de.es..ng  Durand.     She  is  prepLd  .o  ovTZk  your  t 
mg  .he  s.s.er  of  Reine,  and  .he  connection  „f  a  "obber 
You  were  al„ays  her  fav^ri.e,  as  you  are  doub.less  I^e  • 
for  ypur  own  comfor.  you  need  fear  „oU,ing  ••  ,  ' 

.hiL?'  j-""*"""-'  y^  aPP^af  to  relish  tf,e  skyihg  of  bi.ter 
hmgs.     I  ara  no.  qui.e  so  craven  as  you  ftink  L.    I  am 

h'tilT^^''""^"''"'^"^"^-     A.Ieas.Icanreraov" 
tue  stigma  frora  my  sistei"»  name." 

" Canyon?    Pertni. me  .o  doub.  i..    You  rilay  add  i.  to 
yo^  own,  bu.  remove  it  fron.  hers-.ha.  is  no.  so  ea^     U 

k±7  v'  """  "  '"'*'"«  ">'  ''  ''"'  '°-«P'  de'tiny  S 
stands.  Your  suter  has  kep.  your  secre.,  and  paW  .h^ 
pnce  .0  he  las.  farfting.  AU  you  can  do  no;  is  noUo  Jdd 
to  her  d,sù:ess.  vAllyou  can  do  is  .o  go  home  and  eniov  A. 
Worjof  Mr.  Wiiid.0., .mine„.ly  cUr^XS 
bear  what  your  conscience  may  say  .o  you,  wift  wha.  eouT 
n™..y  you  c«,.    Your  ,.ory  is  .ie  ih  m"    itïùTkt      '^ 


halmosr  rougbly  ; 


^^^  inibr-ning  M^,.^^^^^^^ 

^  I  «m  *n«n«3  of  Mademoiselle  Reine's  trmh  anS^to 
■wcence-beyond  Uii»  I  wiU  no.  go."  =»"•'»»<<■«- 


.^i 


-  I  m 


■fi 


404 


6' SULLIVAN  SPEAKS. 


•Shenses  silently.  -He^holds  the  door  open  and  they  gc 
down  stairs.  Frank  is  impatiently  kkking  his  heels  in  the 
Chili  darknes*;  the  hack  stiU  waits,  and  Mr.  Dexter  springa 
^"^"^^  with  alacrity  and  hands  her  in.  Longworth  stands 
barehea^ed,  the  light  of  the  carriage  lamps  falling  on  hi^ 
face,  and  as  Frank  looks  at  him  he  stares^. 

"  Good  gracions,  Larry,  what  is  the  matter  ?  You  look 
hke  a  sheeted  ghost,  old  boy.  What  is  it— liver-bile— too 
many  hot  buckwheats  for  breàkfast,  or  too  much  ink  and 
paper  ail  day — hey  ?  " 

Longworth  shakes  him  oflF  impatiently. 

"Don't  be  a  fool>  Dexter.  Tell  Mrs.  Windsor  I  will  caU 
upon  her  to-morrow,"  he  says  to  Marie. 

Then  Frank  jumps  in  beside  her,  the  carriage  rolls  away 
and  Longworth  is  left  standing  in  the  darkness  alone. 


CHAPTER  XXIX. 

©'SULLIVAN  SPEAKS. 

|R.  FRANK  DEXTER,  during  the  three-quarters  of 
an  hour  or  so  that  he  stands  waiting  outside  the 
Phénix  building,  has  time  for  rummation,  and  this 
rummation  is  not  of  an  agreeable  èharacter.  The  events  of 
the  afternoon  hâve  transpired«#i  such  rapid  succession,  as 
after  a  manner  to  take  his  brej^th  away,  and  leave  no  feeling 
very  clear,  except  one  of  puzzled  disapprobation. 

But  now  he  has  time  and  opporturiity  to  think.  Has  Du- 
rai^ really  robbed  Mrs.  Windsor,  and  has  Reine  been  forced 
to  fly  as  his  accoinplice  in  guilt  ?  That  she  is  his  accomplice, 
Frank    never  for  a  second    imagines— that  even    Durand 


He  does  not  like  the  fellow,  hc  never  bas,  but  stiU  Durand 


,M^t!È&imtiXjâj&i£Ui-iii.è'ilt'^,Jt,k^\,t^^S^^&^  ^  4f> 


ié^J\ 


V  t 


s. 

r  open  'a.nd  they  gc 
ig  his  heels  in  the 
Mr.  Dexter  springs 
Longworth  stands 
mps  falling  on   hi»' 

aatter?  You  look 
: — liver — bile — too 
too  much  ink  and 


Windsor  I  will  call 

;amage  rolls  away 
ness  alone. 


three-quarters  of 
aiting  outside  the 
nination,  and  this 
The  events  of 
id  succession,  as 
i  leave  no  feeling 
ation. 

think.  Has  Dii- 
Leine  been  forced 
is  his  accomplice, 
t  even    Duranj 


ne  itaggers  hir». 
but  still  Durand 


O'SULLIVAN  SPEAJCS. 


/ 


A 


.  405 

différence  .„  Marie  a„d  her  ^T^yZ^lT^T^r 
days,  ha.  been  patent  .0  ail  the  wX  The   *h  t" 

tnp  South;  he  has made certain  ofTat  an Jïr  ?   k  ",*' 
P^ans  are  ,oi„«  -a^ee,-  ant,  ot^Zt:ZZ:Z'^ 

would  hâve  been  «f  fh«  r     .,    [^^^'^'^     %  that  time  they 

p".  his  ra.  .x.rK  rrrs,  '  "-  -"'"  *■"« 

Howr  lonir  thev  are     th.  o«-         /^  "^  ^^^'^  moments, 

«ettled  in^ll^lT.":^::.  ^^hafc»  1'°^!  ■"'«'"  ""'  "«=" 

when  .,  1^:,^"  l^r  ati'-f  ""'k  "  '*""  °'  P''""'»"- 
al^ost  livid  in  .:^  XV^Urt  ht  " H^ ."T''  '^" 

^-:t!:i:ï^r^££rîHf 

— fcny  morg;^ ^' ~ ^"M.'ia.  ajo  not  couic  hère — ^"^ 


"Miss  Landelle " 

«You  a,e  going  South  with  your  «other,»  she  say,,  q„icfc 


1 


ii«».'.U<!M>j4**'i  - 


%-U|^^ 


,i?« 


fct-j'llî. 


4o6 


O^ SULLIVAN  SPEAKS. 


. 


ly;  "  tomoiTow  is  the  day  yôu  were  to  start.  As  a  favoi 
to  me,  Mr.  Frank,  leave  hère  to-morrow  by  the  early  train, 
3.nd  go  with  Madame  Dexter,  as  you  had  proposed.  I  know 
'that  she  is  anxious  to  get  home  ;  do  not  disappoint  her.  As 
a  favor  to  me,  Monsieur  Frank." 

"There  are  few  favors  I  could  think  of  refusing  you,  made- 
.  moiselle — will  you  pardon  me  if  I  beg  you  not  to  insist  upon 
this?  Thére  is  something  I  must  say  to  you."  Frank  hur- 
ries  on,  in  an  agitated  voice,  **  which  I  meant  to  say  yirhen 
you  had  seen  my  uncle  and  my  home.  But  perhaps  ypu  will 
still  come "  • 

"No,"  she  interrupts,  -'I  will  never  go  now.  I  ought 
never  tô  hâve  thought  of  going  at  ail.  Oh,  how  much  misery 
it  might  hâve  saved  if  ï  had  not."  ^ 

"Then  I  cannot  leave  to-morrow,"  Frank  says,  decisively. 
"  Before  we  ^Mt,  I  must  speak  and  you  must  answer.  You 
know — ^youmust  know,  why  I  hâve  spent  this  summer  hère, 
«rhen  duty  so  ofien  called  me  away.  I  shall  not  lesyv^e  Bay- 
mouth again  until  Lknow when  and  how,  if  evcr,  I  am  to  re- 
tum."  I 

There  is  a  firmness  in  the  young  man's  tone,  in  his  face, 
which  eVen  in  the  obscurity  she  recognizes.  She  makes  a 
gesture  as  though  she  would  ring  her  hands.  • 

••Oh  !  "  she  says  under  her  breath,  despair  in  her  voice. 
"  This  too  must  be  met  and  borne.  This  too  I  hâve  deserv- 
ed.  Mr.  Dexter  1  "  she  cries,  and  clasps  her  hands  and  looks 
at  him,  "  I  hâve  not  been  just  or  generous  with  you — I  ask 
you  to  be  both  with  me.  Go  away  and  say  nothing.  Oh, 
believe  me  it  will  be  better— and  do  not  come  back.  I  hâve 
no  right  to  ask  this — to  ask  anything  ;  but  you  hâve  always 
been  kind  and  a  friend  to  me.  Show  yourself  a  friend  to  the 
last-  -go  to-morrow  and  let  us  see  each  other  no  mbre." 

Hejeans  a  little  forward  to  look  in  her  face.    His  own  i> 

perfectly  pale— his  eyes  are  fuU  of  dark,  swift  lerror.    The 
hâck  is  standing  still  at  the  iron  ,gate.    The  driver  is  stoi- 


4,f 


1  *     d^m     ^*  \\     >    jk  t.^  i^j 


•*,-. 


O' SULLIVAN  SPEAJTS. 


A/yj 


start.  As  a  favoi 
3y  the  early  train, 
roposed.  I  know 
sappoint  her.     As 

fusing  you,  made- 
not  to  insist  upon 
ou."  Frank  hur- 
eant  to  say  yirhen 
t  perhaps  yçu  will 

o  now.  I  ought 
how  much  misery 

k  says,  decisiyely. 
ist  answer.  You 
his  summer  hère, 
,11  not  le^ve  Bay- 
'  evcr,  I  am  to  re- 

tone,  in  his  face, 
!S.      She  makes  a 

lir  in  her  voice. 
)o  I  hâve  deserv- 
r  hands  and  looks 
with  you — I  ask 
ly  nothing.  Oh, 
(le  back.  I  hâve 
you  hâve  always 
elf  a  friend  to  the 
;r  no  nmOre." 
tce.  His  Qwn  il 
«vift  lerror.  The 
le  driver  is  stoi- 


cally  at  his  horses'  heads,  wondering  what  his  fares  cân  be 
about. 

^'Doesthismean,"he  says,  «that  you  answer  before  I 
ask  ?_tbat  you  anticipate  my  question  and  refuse  ?  Does 
lt>|nean  that  when  I  ask  you  to  be  my  wife  you  wUl  ïay 
no?"  ^ 

"Op  :  "  she  says,  and  shrinks  from  him  as  though  he  had 
sfanick  her,  «I  asked  you  to  be  gênerons,  and  this-this  w 
what  you  say."         . 

"  If  generositymeans  silence,  then  y  Su  certain  ly  hâve  no 
nght  to  ask  it,"  Dexter  responds,  that  ring  of  new-born  man- 
liness  and  résolution  in  his  tone  ;  "and  I  certainly  shall  not 
comply.     I  hâve  spent  this  summer  hère  because  you  were 
hère,  and  I  could  not  g».     You  know  thatwell.     From  the 
first  moment  I  stood  and  looked  at  yop^n  Mrs.  Windsor's 
parlor  my  whole  Hfe  was  shaped  so  far  k  a  woman  can  make 
or  mar  a  man.     This  too  you  know.     I  do  not  say  you  hâve 
encouraged  me.      I  only  know  you  hâve  been  most  kind- 
fatally  kmd,  if  you  really  mean  the  cruel  words  you  hâve  just 
spoken.     I  hâve  not  been  presumptuous  or  prématuré  •  I 
hoped,  but  I  also  feared  ;  î  hâve  given  you  time.     But  th«e 
is  a  hmit  to  ail  things.     I  can  wait  no  longer.     I  must  know 
whether  I  am  to  hope  or  despair,  and  that  before  we  part  to- 
night."  ,  ^ 

The  words  come  in  one  impetuous  outbreak— there  is 
more  in  his  heart  a  thousand  times  than  he  ever  can  utter 
AU  his  life  seems  to  hang  in  the  balance  ;  a  word  from  her  is 
to  turn  the  scale.  The  incongruity  of  time  and  place  never 
stnkes  him-an  outburst  of  love  in  a  hack,  smelling  of  stables, 
and  moldy  cushions,  and  a  prosaic  cabby  stamping  about 
the  horses'  healds  to  keep  himself  warm  while  he  waits. 

M^rie  sits  quite  still,  her  fingers  loeked  tightly  in  her  lap  ; 
^  look  of  mute  miseiy  on  fier  lacé, 

"  I  am  a  wretch  I  "  she  says,  "'a  selfish,  heartless  wretch. 
Vour  cousin  said  so,  and  he  was  right    Through  me  bis  life 


,"ii  iWii*»'' .  iiJ'Ssy* 


•«»*1 


408 


0'SVf.LIVAN  SPEAKS. 


has  been  spoîled,  shanie  and  sufiFering  hâve  fallen  on  my  si» 

ter.     And  how  you— «you  accuse  me  of  encouraging  you,  and 

leading  you  on  ;  and^perhaps  you  are  right.     But  I  did  no- 

niean  to  do  it — I  did  not  think  at  ail.    Do  I  ever  think  of  «ny 

one  but  myself  ?  It  was  pleasant,  and  I  liked  it,  I  liked  you, 

and  so  I  drifted  on,  and  never  cared  whether  you  werè  hurt 

or  not     If  you  knew  me  as  I  ani,  you  would  despise  me — 

-you  woul4'  tum  from  me  with  contempt — ^you  would  ask  the 

vilest  woman  in  this  town  to  be  your  wife  sooner  than  me."  t 

"  Will  you  be  my  wife  ?  "  he  steadily  repeats. 

^*  No,  never  !     Ah,  heaven  1    it  is  a  crime  to  sit  and  hear 

you  say  such  words  at  ail  !"  .  ' 

"  T'hink  again,"  he'says.  "  You  refuse  now  — ~  I  do  not 
know  why,  but  one  day— —  "  ->. 

«  Never,  I  tell  you  !  "  she*  cries  out  ;  "  never  !  never  !  It 
is  impossible.  Monsieur  Frank,  if  you  hâve  any  mercy  or 
pity  for  me,  let  «s  part  herç.  Do  not  say  one  more  word. 
I  thought  to  spare  myself,  but  to-morrow  I  will  write  to  you 
and  tell  you  alL  What  right  liave'  I  to  -be  spared  ?  And 
when  you -know  you  will  hâte  me  and  scorn  me,  but  not  one 
tithe  as  much  as  I  will  scorn  myself.  I  hâve  done  wrong  to 
many  since  I  came  hère,  but  I  hâve  done  most  wrong  of  ail 
to  you." 

She  opens  the  carriage  door  and  descends.  He  foUows 
her  in  gloomy  silence  ly)  the  avenue,  and  waits  while  she 
knocks.  As  the  key  is  turning  in  the  XoéL  he  speaks  for  the 
first  time. 

"  You  say  you  will  write  tq  me  to-morrow?  "  he  says, 
moodily.     "  Will  you  keep  your  wOrd  ?  " 
"  Yes,  I-  will  keep  it." 

"  And  after  that  when  may  Ircome  and  see  you  ?  '    . 
"  Never  as  long  as  you  live.    You  will  not  want  to  come. 
JGrood-Bightr^nQaaeut^  aad  adieuJj" 


He  sees  hergoin,  then  turns,  springs  into  the  cab,  and 
dijlveii  to  Mrs.  Longworth's.    His  slate  of  mind  h  desperate. 


.it»"*?\A'.iH.:  - 


.•IL 


^'  '.Vil  V  ^f  j..4*.jS'>%Si'i4is«   ■■  "^;.»4'-*Ë'tjiwa*»Hii-iv> 


'''r'. 


e  fallen  un  my  si» 
:ouraging  you,  and 
ît.  But  I  did  no< 
'.  ever  thiqk  of  «ny 
led  it,  I  liked  you, 
her  you  werè  hurt 
•uld  despise  me — 
^ou  would  ask  the 
sooner  than  me."  « 
teats. 
le  to  sit  and  hear 


lOW 


I  do  not 


lever  !  never  I  It 
.ve  any  mercy  or 
r  one  more  word. 
will  Write  to  you 
)e  spared?  And 
1  me,  but  not  one 
ve  donc  wrong  to 
most  wrongr  of  ail 

tids.     He  follows 

waits  while  she 

he  speaks  for  the 

rrow?  "  he  says, 


se  you  ?  '    . 
ot  want  to  come. 


ynjs^' 


ito  the  cab,  and 
lind  h  desperate. 


409 


^'SpiLlVAlf  SPEAKS. 

He  has  feared,  but  he  has  hoped.  He  has  had  no  thought 
of  final  rejection.  And  wjiat  is  this  talk  of  crime,  and  guilt 
and  wrong  ?  The  bare  th^u^ht  of  s^ch  things  in  connection 
with  her  ,s  sacnlege.  Does  «h«  referto  Durand  and  his  rob- 
bery  ?  He  does  not  care  for  thaf.  But  no,  there  is  some 
other  meanmg-some  molehiU,  no  doubt,  magnified  intb  a 
mountam.  And  he  must  wait  until  to-morrow,  until  her  note 
cornes  to  clear  up  the  mystery. 

Mr.  Dexter  spends  a  supremely  misemble  and  sleepless 
"ight     He  goes  to  bed  and  flounces  about,  makes  up  his 
.  mmd  with  a  groan  that  sicep  is  impossible,  getsup  and  paces 
to  and  fro  m  true  melodramatic  fashion.     What  wiU  that  note 
contam  ?    Wliat  secret  can  she  hâve  to  tell  him  ?    Will  it 
turn  out  to  be  some  foolish  girl's'  trifle,  or  will  it  really  be 
strong  enough  to  hold  them  asunder?    That,  he  décides  to 
his  own  satisfaction,  is  utterly.  wildly,  absurdly  impossible. 
This  is  soothmg.  and  he  returns,  flings  himself  on  his  couch, 
andfinally,as  the  gray  dawn  is  breaking,  falls  asleep.  and 
does  not  awake  until  breakfast  time.. 

He  finds  Mrs.  Longworth's  num'erous  and  sélect  family 
assembled,  absorbipg  the  matutinal  coffee  and  beefsteaks. 
and  Mr.  Beckwith  lâys  down  his  knife  and  fork,  and  eyes  the 
new.Gomer  with  stem  di^leasure. 

"Mrs.  Longworth,  ma'àm,"  says  Mr.  Beckwith,  "  1 1)e. 
heve  this  gentleman  occupiés  the  room  immediately  above 
mine.  Either  he  is  consignée  to  some  other  quarter  of  this 
mansion  before  another  night  fi^lls,  or  blood  will  be  spilled 
wuhm  thèse  walls.  Young  man^may  I  inquire  if  you  corn- 
m.tted  a  murder  last  evening  before  you  returned  to  this 
house  ?  or  what  other  ghastly  deed  preyed  upon  your  con^^f 
science  to  the  exclusion  of  slumber?  That  you  should  be  a 
jnusancetoj^igelf;isngthing--that^a  _ 

aance  to  Mrs.  :6eckwith  and  myself,  is  everything.  What,  sir, 
did  you  mean  by  traœping  «p  and  down  youf  apartment  like 
an  escapcd  candidate  for  9,  strait^f  acket  ?    Answer  me  that  I  » 


II 


iiM«4.»,W.-J*';. 


(■«.i',  «K  W/c 


4IO 


0\ SULLIVAN  SPEAKS. 


Veiy  sony,"  Frank  mutters,  rather  ungraciously.  "  Didn't 
know  I  disturbed  anybody.     Couldn't  sleep." 

"  ^u^^^^'  ^^"^  couJdn't  sleep,"  retorts  Mr.  Beckwith,  stem- 

ly.     "What  18  more,  you  couldn't  let  Mrs.  Beckwith  sleep  • 

what  is  still  more,  ypu  couldn't  let  l^rs.  Beckwith's  husband 

sleep.     If  you  hâve  any  regard  for  your  carpets,  Mrs.  Long- 

worth,  you  will  request  this  young  man  to  find  some  other 

establishment  wherein  to  practice  noctumal  gymnastics.    If 

you  hâve  any  regard  for  mè,  ma'am,  you  will  administer  to 

him  a  few  bottles  of  Mrs.  Winslow's  Soothing  Syrup  to-night 

before  he  retires.     Lobk  at  him  I     Does  ivot  that  lean  and 

haggard  visage  bespeak  a  guUty  conscience  and  a  short 

allô wance  of  sleep. 

Ail  eyes  tum  on  Frank,  who  scowls  and  carves  the  steak 
as  though  he  had  got  Mr.  Beckwith  on  his  plate,  and  wére  Ois- 
sectmg  him.  He  certainly  looks  pale,^  k  he  had  had  a  ba^ 
night  ;  and  so  too,  doesanother  memberof  the  party,  whoni 
Mr.  Beckwith -is  not  quite  so  ready.to  handle.-  I^ngworth 
looks  as  though  he  had  scarcely  fared  better  in  the  matter  of 
repose  than  his  young  kinsman,  and  he  is  the  first  to  rise 
and  leave  the  table. 

"O'Sullivan  back  yet,  Longworth?"   is  as  far  as  Mr. 
Beckwith  dare  go  with  this  gentleman  ;  but  there  is  a  mali- 
cious  twinkle  in  his  eye  as  he  asks  the  question.     Is  it  not 
the  talk  of  the  town  that  Mlle.  Reine  Landelle  has  been 
turned.out  of  her  grandmother's  house  for  abettingits  rob- 
bery,  that  she  has  fled  to  New  York,  and  that  O'Sullivan, 
with  his  custpmary  easy-going  good-nature,  has  allowed  him- 
.  self  to  be  imposed  upon  by  her  sham  distress,  and  has  gone 
with  her?    Further  than  this,  scandai— even  the  scandai  of 
a  country  town— goeth  not.     As  Miss  Hariott  has  said,  Mr. 
O'Sullivan  is  one  of  thèse  èxceptional  people  who  can  do 
with  unpunity  what  would^e  the  min  ofanother. 


-«^Jîist  litèhiml"  ifûïeFêAmgifrû:A/o{  Baymouth;  «a 
lOtfd-natured  fo^l  that  any  woman  çan  twist  lound  her  fingur." 


;^*', 


Ai 


.  "£  ^«r 


f 


s. 

graciously.  "  Didn't 

•d" 

-P-  ^ 

Ir.  Beckwith,  stem- 

s.  Beckwith  sleep  ; 

teckwith's  husband 

arpets,'Mrs.  Long. 

to  find  some  other 

al  gymnasdcs.     If 

will  administer  to 

ling  Syrup  to-night 

mot  that  lean  and 

ence   and  a  short 

i'  carves  the  steak 
>late,  and  were  dis- 
f  he  had  had  a  ba|d 
f  the  party,  whorn 
tidle.-  I-K)ngworth 
;r  in  the  matter  of 
is  the  first  to  rise 

is   as   far  as   Mr. 
it  there  is  a  mali- 
lestion.     Is  it  not 
andelle  has  been 
abetting  jts  rob- 
that  O'SuUivan, 
has  allowed  hiip. 
ss,  and  has  gone 
n  the  scandai  of 
ott  has  sdd,  Mr. 
pie  who  can  do 
)ther; : 


■/. 


■  Baymouth  ;  "  a 
oundherfingcr." 


O'SULLIVAK  SPEAKS.  41, 

<>ès  as  he  faces  Mr.  Beckwith  that  makes  that  gentleman 

way.  and  the  first  person  he  encounters  when  he  enters  the 
office.  Mr.  O'SuUivan.  It  is  in  the  editor's  own  roonuhe; 
"'f  ^'  »"d  Longworth  tums  for  a  moment  of  that  same  Jivid 

^  L?h"'.'K  ^'."''^^'-  The  two  men  stand  and  confront 
each  other,  and  m  O'SuUivan's  eyes  the  fieiy  light  of  indig- 
nation  bums.  He  is  not  a  handsome  man-that  you  hâve 
been  told-nor  a  dignified  man  ;  but  as  he  turns  and  con- 
fronts  h.s  chref.  there  is  both  manliness  and  dignity,  beyond 
dispute,  m  his  bearing.  Longworth  speaks.  *  ^'  ^  "* 
"  O'STulhvan,"  he  says,  "  where  is  she  ?  " 
-  Maybe  you'll  tell  me  by  what  right  you  ask,"  O'SuUivan 
answers,  contemptuously.     «.I  know  of  nône." 

«By  the  right  of  a  man  who  has  wronged  hér  beyond  repa. 

lation,  and  yet  whose  only  désire  is  to  repair,  as  far  as  he 

\he  may,  that  wrong.     By  the  right  of  a  man  who  h*  insulted 

the  woman  he  should  hâve  protected  and  trusted  through  aU 

hmgs,  and  whose  whole  life  will  not  be  long  enough  to  atone 

for  that  msult.     I  hâve  been  a  fool,  O'SuUivan " 

bit"eri  *"'  "^°"  "^  ^*'^*''  ^^  ^^''^  ^  "  ^"'^"T^^^'^s  O'SuUivan, 

.,  "  '\  !^°""^'-^ï-^»ytï^ing  you  like.  Nothing  yOu  can  say 
can  add  to  the  remorse  and  shame  I  feel.  I  hâve  not  evea 
a  right  tô  thank  you  for  what  you  hâve  done,  but  from  my 
soulldo.  Mme  has  been  the  doings  of  a  dastard-your. 
of  a  true  and  honorable  man." 

He  holds  out  his  hand  ;  .but  O'SuUivan  draws  back,  for  the 
first  time  in  his  life,  from  the  grasp  of  his  friend. 

"I  hâve  a  word  or  two  to  say  to  ye,  Mr.  Longworth. 
When  I  hâve  toit,  jt  —     ^  ...  -  » 


may  be  you  «ilLieel-  jt», jittle  likt 


Tnendlyhand-sljakmgasl  do'now.  You  say  weU  you  hâve 
no  nghtto  thank  me.  I  want  none  of  your  thanks  ;  I  youldn't 
Wl  a  finger,  at  'his  mmute,  to  save  your  life.    You  havc  for- 


lÂïttt/i^'ï'iiiwâiili^  ■ 


413 


O  *SULUVAl^'  SPE4KS, 


feited  ail  nghts  you  ever  had  so  far  as  Reine  Landclle  is  con    . 
cemed  j  and  it  does  me  good  to  be  able  to  tell  youy  this  fine 
morning,  that  to  your  dying  day  you  will  never  regain  them/î. 
Longworth  sits  down  without  a  word,  leans  his  elbows^'.. 
,    his  desk  and  his  face  in  his  hands.  1) 

"  î^«  talk  of  atonemeni,"  goes  on  O'SuUivan,  contemplgl^ 
odsly.     "  K;«  talk  of  réparation  1     Upon   my  life,  ifs   a' 
nughty  fine  opinion  you  must  hâve  of  yourself  to  think  that 
whenever  you  choose  you  can  make  it  up  to  her- that  you 
hâve  only  to  say  a  few  ^owery  words  and  she  wjll  be  ready 
to  forget  and  forgive.     If  you  think  sb  it  is  little  you  know 
the  same  young  lady.     You'.re  a  proud  man,  My^ongworth. 
but  you  don't  nionopolize  aU  the  pride  of  thcTôrld  ;  and 
the  day  you  go  to  make  your  apologies,  m>  word  for  it;  you'U 
meet  yoùr  match.     It's  a  long  score  the  same  mademoiselle 
has  to  settle  wirh  you.     You  couldn't  even  tell  Wx  you  were 
m  love  with  her,  because  she  wasn't  in  lovç  with  you.     No 
feith,   such  jiumiliation  wouldn't  suit  your  loftiness  at  ail! 
You  couldn't  stopp  to  conquer,  stooping  wouldn't  agrée  with 
a  gentleman  of  so  high  a  stomach.     But  you  coiild  ask  her 
to  marry  you.  because  my  lady  Windsor  set  her  flinty  old 
hêart  on  it.     You  took  \i^  when  she  said  yes,  because  she 
iare  not  say  no,  satisfied  you  had  nothing  to  do  but  m/ke 
her  fall  m  love  with  you  at  your  leisure.     And  then  this  fine 
popmjay  of  a   Frenchman  cornes  on  the  carpet,  with  his 
superfine  airs  and  grâces,  and  because  she  knew  him  ail  her 
hfe,  and  was  his  sister  in  a  way.  and  they  hâve  secrets  be- 
tween  the«i  that  she  won't  betray,.ypu  lose  your  head,  and 
make  a  fool,  ay,  and  a  rascal  of  youràelf,  with  jealousy.    On 
my  word  it's  a  thousand  |>ities  shedidn^tmike  a  gênerai  con- 
fession to  you  of  her  whcfle  life,.seeing  the  fine  way  you  took  - 
to  wm  her  confidence.     And  ail  the  while  any  one  not  as 
^k"d  ?«  a  bat»  or  a  mole,  conM  sf  f  jt  ^ag  the  othcr  onc  hc 
was  mad  about,  and  poor  Ma'amselle  Reine— God  help  her 
betwcenye-onlytrymgtokeepthepeace.    Well,  well, 'tii 


■  ■^-y. 


-> 


i  f  4jV;-"u  -ÎJ» 


r--'^ 


;  ~^ 

le  Landelle  is  con    " 
)  tell  youy  this  fine 
îver  regain  themA    ' 
;ans  his  elbowSoOra.v 

llivan,  contempfcï^il!^ 
n  my  life,  it's  a'. 
rself  to  think  rtiat 
.  to  her — that  you 
ihe  will  be  ready 
I»  Uttle  ypu  know 
I  J^^^^Ongworth, 

the/wôrld;  and 
Word  for  i^  you'U 
me  tnademoiselle 
te^ll  he'r  yoii  were 
?  with  you.     No, 

loftiness  at  ail. 
uldn't  agrée  with 
•u  coiild  ask  hei 
et  her  flinty  old 
yes,  because  she 
to  do  but  màke 
nd  then  this  fine 
carpet,  with  his 
:new  him  ail  her 
hâve  secrets  be- 

your  head,  and 
h  jealousy.  On 
e  a  gênerai  coh- 
e  way  you  took 
any  one  not  as 
be^other  one^  he — ^ 


O  'SULUVAN  SPEAKS, 


413 


r 


idie  tâlking.  You  hâve  lost  her  and  you  descrve  it,  and  I 
wouldn't  wish  my  worst  enerny  a  greater  punishment.  For 
if  ever  there  was  a  heart,  true  and  faithful,  pure  and  good, 
that  heart  is  Reine  Landelle' s." 


^ 


O'Sulhvan  pauses,  not  for  lack  of  indignant  iords,  but  for 
sheer  wa^it  of  breath.  And  still  Longworth  sîts,  his  iace 
hidden,  and  says  nothing.  What  is  there  to  say?  He  is 
heanng  the  truth,.and  it  mattefs  Httle  if  O'Sullivan's  lips 
*8peak  aloud  the  silent  cry  of  conscience  and  despair.  He 
hètèns,  and  feels  no  more  inclined  to  resent  what  he  listens 
t6,  than  if  some  old,  white-haired  mother  stood  hère  in  this 
man's  place  reproaching  him.  Only  once  he  looks  up  and 
speaks,  no  anger,  a  touch  of  weary  wonder  alone  in  his  tone. 
"Whatl  O'SuUivanl"  he  says.  "Were  you  her  lover 
too  ?  "  • 

"And  if  I  had  been,"  cries  O'SuUivan,  fiercely,  «  my  word 
it's  «nothér  sort  of  lover  Td  hâve  been  than  you.  Td  hâve 
trusted  the  girl  I  was  going  to  make  my  wife  ;  l'd  not  hâve 
been  the  first  to  make  out  a  case  against  her  ànd  hunt  her 
<lown.  Oh,  faith  1  it's  to  a  fine  market  you  hâve  driven  your 
pigs,  Mr.  Longwort^,  and  ifs  yonrself  is  the  lucky  man  ail 
ovt  this  blessed  morïiing  I  " 

" O'Sullivan,  let  this  end.  I  willlisten  to  no  more.  You 
hâve  a  right  to  speak,  biit  even  your  righfe  has  its  limit.  WiU 
you  tellt.te  where  she  is?"  - 

"  You  may  take  your  oath  l'il  not  1"        , 
"She  is  safe  and  well,  at  least?  " 

"  A  good  deal  safer  and  better  than  you  ever  tried  to  make 
her,  and  that  same's  not  saying  much." 

"  WiU  you  tell  me  how  she  is  provided  for  ?  Come,  O'Sulli. 
van,  try  and  be  mercifuL  I  hâve  been  her  enemy,  you  her 
fnend— you  can  aflFord  to  be  gênerons.  Where  is  she,  and 
what  i--^- -^- — ^ — -i-»...  .»^  .-    ^=^ 


is^ie-gbinyto  do/' 
Something  of  what  Longworth  feels  and  suffers  is  in  his  face 
and  voicc,  and  the  CSulUvan  hiu  an  extrcmclftehder  heart; 


r 

— God  help  her 
Well,  wcll,  'tii 


4-  i~t  t^j'  ^   JuN  . 


™F¥»   #  «JW'«^i"fJ5S*!}'?«W^'tw»|BW;f|Mlw 


"1. 


\ 


414 


O'SULLIVAtr  SPEAKS, 


Hc  can  imagine  what  it  niust  be  like  to  hâve  won  anJ  1^ 
Reine  LandcHc.  ,;  X 

"  She  is  ip  New  York,"  he  answers,  gruniblingiy,  but  still 
conciliàted.  ".She  is  with  à  friend  of  mine»  and  she  is  goir  « 
to  earn  an  honest  living  for  herself.  I  'promised  to  tell  you 
know  ^'  *"'*  ^  ^^^^  '^'"^  ^°"  "^'^  ^**^  y"»  '^a^e  a  right  to 

"promisedher?" 

yWho  else  ?  Ifs  Ultle  pity  or  pardon  she  has  for  you,  let 
m?  tell  you,  or  éver  will.  She  wiU  never  forgive  you  until 
her  dying  day-those  are  her  words.  and  much  good  may 
tney  qo  you."      -  j  °  ' 

Longworth  rises  as  if  goadèd  beyond  ail  endurance,  and 
begtns  stndmg  up  atid  do wn.  O'SuUivan  stands  and  watches 
him,  gnm  satisfaction  on  every  featur<^,  and  yet  with  a  sort 
ot  reluctant  compassion  struggling  throiigh. 

"les  more  thân  you  desèrve."  he  says,  stiU  grumblingly. 
"and  very  hkely  it  is  little  she'll  thank  me;  but  if  you'll 
wnte  a  letter  to  her,.ril  forward  it.  The  greatest  criminal, 
they  say,  ought  to  get  a  hearing."  '  . 

"And  hâve  it  returnedunopen«d " 

"  Oh  I"  says   O'SuUivan,  contemptuously^  tuming  away^ 
if  you  take  that  tone,  I  hâve  no  more  to  say.     Faith  1    i^s 
return  it  unopened  she  ought,  and  every  letter  you  ever  write 
to  her,  and  unless  1  am  mistaken  in  her,  it  is  what  she'H  do  " 
"Stay,  O'SuUivan-you  are  right.    If  itisreturned  unopen- 
ed, as  you  say,  it  will  be  no  more  than  I  deserve.     To-night 

you  shall  hâve  it,  ar^d  whatever  the  resuit ^  » 

He  does  not  finish  the  sentence,  and  so  they  part.  O'Sul. 
hvan  goes  fo  his  work  prçpa?ed  to  meet  and  baffle  the 
cunosityofBaymouth,  with  extremely  short  and  unsatisfac 
toryanswcFS.  .^    • 

Longworth  writes  his  letter,  and  finds  it  the  most  di^cult 
of  ail  the  ^ousands  hc  has  ^verwritten.     itTîloflg,  ttir^ 
elequent;  an  impassionediprayer  for  pardon  and  rcconciU 


«»  w  wï .  j»"J,*!!.-.»',fT''^r''"'"W!!^!ll" 


have  won  anJ  loal 

niblingiy,  but  still 
1,  and  shé  is  goir.g 
omised  to  tell  you 
>a  have  a  right  to 


le  has  for  you,  let 
forgive  you  until 
much  good  uiay 

11  endurance,  and 
mds  and  watches 
d  yet  with  a  sort 

still  grumblingly, 
ne  ;  but  if  you' 11 
freatest  criminal, 


y^tuming  away, 
ay.  Faithl  it's 
ir  you  ever  write 
i  what  she'H  do." 
eturned  unopen- 
ierve.     To-night 

II-:.  1 

leypart.  O'Sul- 
and  baffle  the 
and  unsatisfac 

e  most  dipcult 
itTS  TôBg,  if  ~tf 
i  and  reconcili 


t^^l     °"1'^}  "  '»'P<>«il''«-whe«  tin,e  .„d  part- 
ngsh»ll  h.v.  «,,e„„I  his  offenses.     If  he  had  loved  her 
le«,  he  m^h,  Wellhave  been  ^ore  ^«crous,  he  tell,  her 
fee  shows  her  h«  hea«  as  he  has  nevtr  h„™bled  hm.'elf   c 

vain.     His  pnde  wiU  ne»er  sUndbel«rebn  them  more      He 
.s  contenue  „ait  her  own  good  .ime.  he  wiU  no.  as k  ,„  ^ 

will  be  toc  bltter  to  bear.  '      '"'""='"=« 

«,  he  has  deserved  to   lose  her  for  everj   he  can  onW 
acknowledge  his  sin,  and  crave  pardon.  ^ 

rJt  ■*  *  7,"''  '°  ■""*  ""'™-     **■••  O'SuUivan  opens  his 

"t  hTd"  ^"^  ^''"  !'  -^  "''^'  ""=  --''«  -<>  -î."^  i^ 

.al'l',?^  """?  ""''  "•'"'"  *'*°"'  ''*•  '='"'''•"  he  remarks,  ••m 

li If     ;■    ,       ""'  '  "*="  '^"  '^<'  """»'  "ffo"!  'ô  rùin 
niyself  entirely  in  postage." 

He  addresse,  the  missive'  m;Si  a  grim  sensé  of  the  hnmor 
of  the  situation,  and  take,  it  to  the  post-office.     As  he  en.ers 

ri'  r''  ''«S^f^ngou.-^  small.  oblong  l"  'e" 
■n  h,s  hand.  and',  pale,  intense   expression'  on   hfs  f^e. 

0  Sullivan  loqksafterhimcnriously. 

1  M  not  greatly  mistaken  Mademoiselle  Marie  has  a  hand  in 
the  business  Upon  my  life  there's  no  end  .„  the  tub  " 
and.  vexânon  of  mind  thèse  young  «romen  mate.  There'! 
I-ongwor.h,  as  fine  a  fellow  as  ever  drew  the  breath  of  1  fe 

a^d  feZ"  h'  '^  '^'^  '"  'T  -"  ""^  '^"y  <^''  "f  *'- 
l?5A"  r"jggj:«°°^    And  hereaml.    Oh  ^,«yI.KTOT= 


^nser,  and  botter,  and  happier  we'U  be." 


IJw'u^   '  ' 


:é0i. 


/*' 


s* 


[isî! 


,  '  ~«,»'  * 


416 


1^ 


s 


O'SULUrAN  SPMAKS. 


F Jnt  f^^  '*'*™**  •^•^P'"''  '««"  "  fro"  Marie 

nova  t  hl!  r        ^"''  "  "  ^"^  "«■"•    I  '««'  hoM 
ncver  .0  hear  th.  words  you  spoke  last  nighl,  but  they  hâve 

l«en  .poke^  a„d  I  ™„se  answer.    I  am  „„.  wha.  yo»  and 

Frank  is  in  the  street  f  people  aie  pasa„g,  and  they  tum 
and  look  c„no„ay  «  the  young  ™.„  «h„\as  cÔme  ,°™ 
stand-»,,!.,  «anng  at  ,hé  lettcr  he  hoids,  witH  Wan^d  ftce 
P^y^rCSleTr  /o-  —n.  he  stands  ^, 
■  ^rTt^^^^  he  has  been^ck.  «nheeding  thé 
rcrs  wno  pass  him.  Jhen  some  one— he  never  know, 
who-Iays  a  hand  on  his  arn,  and  «idrisses  him 

He  shakes  ofif  the  hand  bUndly,  cnishes  the  letter  in  hi. 
grasp,  and  hnrries  div  ' 

«Léonce  Durand's  wife!"  As  the  thought  had  once 
.truck  Longworth.  mute  and  desperate.  so  i,«rikef  Frank 
now.  Léonce  Durand's  wife ,  the  words  écho  in  a  dulf^rt 
of  smpor  throngh  his  mind.  Ail  the  time  he  i,  hunybl  fo 
ward,  and  wben  he  stops  he  sees  that  he  has  leHe  Kusv 
.^.s  behtnd  hi».  and  has  reached  .  placé  wher.  he^n 

J  'ci?fert*°°"  °,"""'*  ""  **  ^^  '  ''"'••«1  I^ndo». 
and  came  herç  concealmg  the  fiàet,  becan«  I  knew  mv 

grandmother  would  no.  «Uni»  wi,hi„  ^  i^TlZ. 
daughter  who  wa.  the  wife  of  a  Frenchman.    t  Llï^ 


— ■   ■  ^ f  ^ ' — K X—J^ ^ 

iwmciim,  and  now  you.    ï  îik^  vou 
«dupieasedme  to«c«v.^  «tenais;  my  owe  £. 


■   >■ 


'i,tt'*'j!fe*Vs?^'?'"  rJ?à«.  i,,%-.^',.!.v- 4:. '.*'..'->  '  ^-^^r\, 


<"a<if* 


r  is  frona  Miriez 
;  of  the  office,  and 

lise  I  cannot  help 
»t  I  had  hoped 
ht,  but  they  hâve 
lot  what  you  and 
Jot  Mademoiselle 
5t  six  montbs,  the 

ig,  and  they  turn 
>  has  corne  to  a 
tl(<blanched  face 
stands  $tunned, 
:,  unheeding  the 
he  never  knows 
him. 
the  letter  in  his 

)ught  had  once 
it  strikes  Frank 
tïo  in  a  duU  sort 
■  is  hurrying  for- 
is  left  the  busy 
î  where  he  can  . 
he  letter  again 

uitted  London, 
9e  I  knew  my 
tloors  a  grand- 
ie bave  no  ex< 
concealr 


I  likèa  you, 
xnyown  hcart^ 


\ 


^' 


t  /' 


"s 


**WITa  BMPTIED  ARMS,*^  ETC.  41; 

waé^^touched,  and-oh  I  let  me  own  it.  s6  that  you  may 

or  not  Bu^  I  teU  you  the  truth  now,  and  lay  myself  al  your 
mercy.  I  a^ -orrier  than  «.ry  ;  but  what  will'that  l4iU 
I  deserve  no  forgiveness,'  I  can  only  hope  that  when  yor^o 
away  you  will  speedilj^rget  one  50  unworthy  as 

>  "Marie  Durakc;" 

Frank  D^r^^^^^^^  '"  "^ '^  °^  ^^^  ^hal 

Frank  Dexter  as  he  reads.     The  place  is  lonely  ;  he  flings 

hsl^  aTdT.-'vt'^''"""''^^'^^'^^^^         ^-«  - 
nis  ann,  and  so  lies  Ij^ke  a  stone. 

twihght  ;  this  too  grows  gray,  and  darkness  into  night.  The 
sky  bas  h  us  sUver  lamps  long  before  he  lifts  his  head.  and 
rises  slowly  feelmg  chilled  and  stiff.  His  face  is  hagga  d 
his  eyes  red  and  inflan.ed.  No  one  who  kno.s  ISnk 
Dexter  would  recognize  that  face. 

His  first  act  is  to  tear  the  Jetter  înto  minute  fragments 
and  iling  them  from  him  ;  then  he  turns  and  walkXk  tô 

and  T.;  .       k"  ''"'  '""'^  ''''  simple  trust,  and  faith, 
and^aJl  that  ,s  best  in  his  nature  has  left  ti^n-the  bo/i 

heart  18  gone,  to  return  no  more. 


CHAPT^   XXX. 

t*WITH  EWmKD  AIUIS  AND  TREASUR»  LOST." 


mm  >«tti 

HPOT  mone 


r  h^  warm,  brightiy  lighted,  favorite  sitting-room 

™    Jî  "  ''•*'  *"*  time   «he  has  corne  down 
«•9i.aince  the  robbeiy.  . 


'W*''- 


*■-■ 


;•  >  •.%.■' A*.- 


ifïtMf.' 


w 


^''  ^Z^^^^^  EMPTIED  ARMSr  ETC, 

chloroform  hâs  injured  her;   she  looks  every  day  of  hc 
sixty-five  years  as  she  sits  hère.  /      r  oi  n« 

she  ha^  brooded  over  the  base  ingratitude  ahd  thorough  bal 
n«ss  of>  her  younger  granddaughter,  u^ntil  anger  turns  to 
posmve  hatred  And  Krs.  Windsor  is  a  thoroughiy  consis'' 
ent  woman-those  she  hâtes  once,  she  hâtes  aLys.     Her 

tr  "^  T'  ^K^  ^"  "^^'^  ^^^^  ^"e^^'  her  .iisliiings  are 
strong  and  deep,  bitt^  and  enduring.     Sitting  hère,  thf  face 

"8ars^«bu!7Jo°'"''^  sinceyou  hâve  been  hère."  she 

SI:..-         c  ^      *  "^^'^  ^^^'^  ^°'"""'  *"^  ™"«'  not  exact 

uv     ;.  K  "•    ^"^  ^"  ^"^'^  ^'^^^  J^^rie  has  corne?  " 

K».  î-^''       f  f""^^"  ^"^^^'  *"^  understands  that  Marie 

Solt     /r  ^""^  '*?""'  '°""  '"^^^^  *^^^"«^'  ^^"kes  her. 
She  looks  at  hina  attentively. 

"What  isit. "Laurence?"  she  asks.  "Is  it."  she  sits 
erect  mth  sudden  vindictive  eagerness,  "  is  it  tha  that  th^^f 
Durand  bas  been  taken  ?  "  '»i  ""« 

ihJ'Av^'^T  p°*'"^  "'  ^"  "^  ^"*"^-     I  ^^^^  heard  noth- 
S  *'  '"'  '  '""'  ''"^~"'  ^^'^  '  ^*-  -«e  to 

the"  Ln  •  Y  '?  K  T  "*''^^"«^  °*'  ^"'^'  "^'  ^^«"  h*''  «a^e.  Of 
^.Jn  n  ^  '"^  *"  °°'^  betv.eer  them,  I  would  let  th. 
viUain  Durand  escape,  and  punish  her." 

«dst^^c^tr  r  "V°^"''  '  '^^^  ***^"  ^^^  *^««  ""i«»^.  -nd 

knowledge.  or  partiapation  in  this  crime.  No  bettcr.  purer. 
nobler  heârt  than  hers  beAs  toniay."        «       ^,    'f^*^' 


Chatyoubcheveit?    H*v.yauth«ibtcom%More  witb 


'*    t. 


'f:^': 


.■*- 


ETC. 

every  day  of  hei 

Hpiît,  loneïy  days, 
uid  thorough  bad» 
1  anger  turns  to 
loroughly  consist- 
tes  always.  .  Her 
lier  ..dislikings  are 
ing  hère,  the  face 
I,  and  hard,  and 
custoinary  pleas- 

been  hère,"  she 
must  not  exact 
irie  has  conie?  " 
nds  that  Marie 
oflice.  Some- 
nge,  strikes  her. 

Is  it,"  she  sits 
t  that  that  thief 

ve  heard  noth- 
[  hâve  corne  to 

»e^  name.    Of 
would  let  thr 

ê 
l 

îen  unjust,  and 
U  wrong,  of  ail 
>  better,  T^tx^ 


'^" 


••  ^/ra  £AfJ>r/£I>  AliMS-  ETC.  419 

tWs  girl.  that  you  are  so  eager  to  find  and  md.e  excuses  for 

Se  i"         "^"'  ^  ^""  '^'  ^  ^'  -^'  ^  «hail  begin  to 

n,;^"^  '^^"^  ^'-    *  *--'  -d  do  love  her  mth  Zm 
*'  And  you  believe  her  innocent?  " 
l'Madam,  I  know  her  innocent." 
"Who  has  b«en  talking  to  you?"  she  «.««-f-    1       • 

_"  I  beg  your  pardon,  M,s.  Windsor,  ther»  was  no  acknowl. 
edgmen,  of  gu.U.  She  «mply  bore  o«r  insults  and  nleritld 
«proache.  ,„  s.lenc*.     I  wil.  tell,yo„  „ha.  I  believe  ;» 

"Durand  was  the»obber,  doubtless.  .  Bï.some  chance  he 
may  hâve  heard  from  her  dut  .his  n,oney  «as  in  your  r^^' 

«Hh  her  at  the  gâte  as  he  passed  thtough.     In  ail  innocence 
she  »ay  hâve  told  hin.  ;  and  Durand,  in  need  ôrmoTey 
and  knowuHS  how  éasUy  the  Iheft  could  be  effeced,  inS 
TflZ         ■"''!'"'"'"•    Shenuyhaveheard'thenôu^    ' 

A,d  „e«  day,  when  pitilessiy  «:cused,  she  had  only  S 

loved.    She  nobly  chose  silence "  . ,, 

A^.  Windsor-s  short,  scornful  laugh  interrupts  hiid.      ' 
Brotherl"    she  repeats,   with  infinité  contempt.      ^1 
fear  you  hâve  been  worked  too  haid  in  your  office,  Lau. 


'"?iB^ 


if] 


:al  good  sensé, 
\y  in  love  mtb 


inir  of  fh.  k        •    u  your.assistant,  and  tliat  soften 

mg  of  Uie  bnun  is  the  conséquence.    Bipthçr  1  "  lb«  lamhft 


420 


•  ^ITH.MMPTIBDARMS»  ETC. 


moment,  then  resunies  :    .  4"«wy  lor  a 

^  "  She  chose  silence  rather  than  betray  the  frieiid    th« 

;«J  Tt"**  "  ^"8*°"''  8"«  o»,  "but  not  ai  a  loro^of 
^1  „«  r~'    -r  *"'  '"  •"'  "*  "^  ^^^.é 

mjr  da«,rity  oonduc,  ,o  Reine  La«ieUe  .o  .^^yZt,  " 

WindMr,  e«»peiated  for  once  ont  of  .11  he,  ^JZl 
<&wnianner.  I  knowwhat»lfn,i.»  "'  ""  «x»  ^««'fe 
livan  .1,.™  *!'"«»""»taUthismeans.  ThemaftO'SuU 
Uvan  tUecompamonofUB,  mserable  Sri",  flfeht    ha»  rj 

beheve, everything  A.  ,eUs  him  no  doubt  He ta. ÎS rf?^ 
yo.,  he  has  b«.„ght  yo«  a  lette,  fron.  her,  a  W  «^  1^ 

to  h.  H^  ,/^  """"""^  •*»«  «<»«.  on'y  toowUlinB 
tobf  dMped    Up  ,0 .o^ràghu hâve always respecled Z af 

-I  find  you  no  better  than  ft«4  De»,^  „  L,  JZr 
moonstrack  boy  in  lore."  "«"  «  any  other 

rhillîTîL"'  '""  ^'""««xxJ  opinion.  m.dwn,  but  if  I  mu« 

•ake  of  my  Me,  then  I  bave  uo  alternative,  i  o«e  h..  Ai. 
re^t«„.    rn,«.thav.b.enmadi»d..rwher.T^dI^" 


# 


A>abt;.and  for  â,c  fotuie  th^  aim  of  my  lifc  aliS^  wi^ 


.^j 


Jltâr 


'F 


î  I 


ETC. 

waitr  quietly  for  « 

\y  the  frieiid,  tbe 
«nt,  and  whom  in 

-increasing  sconu 

»t  a»  a  lova^— of 

has  becn  sinned 
ared  for  her,  who 
«  found;  lot  me 
myself  her  worst 
brgive  myself  for 

my  dying  day." 
"  exclaims  Mrs. 
her  cod  grande 

The  maii  O'SuI- 
»  â^ht,  bas  re- 

simplëton,  and 
Hehastalkedto 
k  long  and  elab- 
ir  own  showing, 
only  too  -willing 
espected  you  as 
)iased  judgment 

or  any  other 

n»  but  if  I  must 
(»  greatest  mis- 
I  owe  her  this 
în  I  couid  look 
^er  capable  of 
id  heroicnobil^ 


mipossa>le  to 
^beto  wiiv 


-  mr»  EMPTIED  AttMS»  JBrC,  <    4JI 

2ng^»  ""  ''''^'''^  ^^  '"^^  ^'  I  »»av.  so  grossly 

hâve  Wn      TLT      itr  f  *  bhndfd  by  passion  he  must 

the  dévotion  of  my  wbole  life  would  be  insufficienUo  alonT 
Thr^gh  my  own  fplly  l  hâve  lost  her  forever."  '* 

nix.     rL    ^^^  ^T.^"^  P*"^'  ^'  "^  ï^aders  of  the  PAe. 
n^     laskyou  a  plain  question-give  me  a  plain  answ^- 

robbeï/Du'r^df-'^V^^^^^^^ 

*'Madam,-   Longwortb  says,  with  difficulty   keeninir  hi- 
temper.  "  the  intimacy.  as  you  call  it,  JZ/oilTjJ^l 
loves  and  screens  a  ditreputable  brother  " 

n^tllr^^X  "^"-^-^-—  àbr^miVthless, 
J  And  this  is  the  man  I  thought  wis<^  with  the  wisdom  of 

^  and  loved  as  my  own  son.     At  one  word  from  tWs  rirf 

he  «ready  taoverlookaU  thingsanctiake  her  bac^  ^^^^^ 

thisisbesottcdmadaessindecd.'»  ,■    **J^, 

LoQgvortb  riseV^  ->  ' 

."  W^had  iïetter  pW,  madam,"  he  says,  qdetly.    "1  ha«i 


■I  . 


te'"'  M 

mai — 1^ — ~-.g 


492r 


**WZTH  BMPTIED  ARUS,^  MTC, 


niy  fife  shall  be  spent,  so  far  as  she  wiU  allow  me,  in  rfepjfr» 

tion."  ^  pr  •  .;         f*™ 

"  Onélast  word,".she  'exclaims,  rising  and  holding  by  IhV 
back  of  het  çhaiiv  «  Let  us  understand  one  another  before 
we  part.  Ami  to  bçlieve  it  is  yôur  fixed  and  unalterabie 
determinaHon  td'iillny  thisgirl?''     -  ' 

«  It  is  my  fixed  ïfâ  unalterabie  détermination  ■  " 
"  Wait  one  moment.  I  see  ybu  are  impatient,,  but  I  will 
not  detainyou  long.  The  will  I  spoke  of  to you  some  months 
ago  stiU  stands  as  it  stood  then.  You  are  my  heir— need  I  sa) 
that  Reine  LandeUe  and  the  man  who  marries  her  shall  nevei 
possess  a  farthing  ofnriné  ?  " 

Longworth  bows  haughtily  «^ 

«  Do  me  th>  justice,  madam,^  to  recall  that  on  the  <*ccasion 
you  ipeak  of  ï  declined  your  bounty.  Permit  me  fot  myself 
ànd  my  future  wife,  if  she  ever  so  far  forgives  me  to  become 
my  wife,  once  more  and  finally  to  décline  it."      ,  "  - 

Ma  moves  decisivély  to  the  door.    She  stUl  stands  and 
watches  him  with  "drêarily  angry  eyes. 

"  And  this  is  the  gratitude  of  man,"  she  says  half  to  herself. .. 
"I  loved  hiip  almost  as  I  once  loved  my  own^son,  and  see 
.  how  he  returns  that  love." 

He  turns  instantly  aiid  comes  back.     He  ofiers  his  hand, 
but  she  wayes  it  away.  ■     .     v 

••  For  that  love  I  thank  you,"  he  says  ;  «for  tlie  trust  and 
affection  with  which  you  hâve  honored  me,  I  am  most  grate- 
fui.  But  yo(u  must  sec  that  no  alternative  remains  but  to 
dis^lease  you.  I  hâve  done  yoiir  gianddaughter  a  cruel 
wrpng— if  she  were  an  utter  strange^,  much  less  the  woman  I 
love,  it  would  be  my  duty  to  nçiake  atonenienit.  I  am  sony 
We  must  part  ill  friends,  but  if  I  hâve  to  choose  bet^efn  you, 
then  I  choose  hen"  .  ,  ■     .    ,      > 

I,  ■".?  ^,^^^Y^^T^  ^^^    *•  I  wish  tp  heat^aô  tnore.  ' 
-flftv»^>een  a  Iboi,  and  hâve  received  vt^ôTi  rê#û^ 


day  ever  cornes  when  wjsdom  retnmi  to  you,  you  may  vint 


"^ 


■  t$iâ^;. 


^■^'••yfff, 


nrme,  in  répà^ 

i  holding  by  thV 
:  another  before 
and  unalterable 

tion  — :—  " 
tient,,  but  I  wiïl 
ou  some  months 
leir — need  I  sa) 
s  her  shall  nevei 


on  the  occasion 
t  inefoïn^yself 
i  me  to  become 

j 
stiil  stands  and 

i  half  to  herself.  , 
n^on,  and  see 

tffers  his  hand, 

r  tïie  trust  and 
ini  most  grate- 
reniains  but  to 
ighter  a  cruel 
m  the  woman  I 
ii^  i  ara  sony 
ebetv^efnyou, 

'■-:'■  .  ■  ii--r ''•'■•  ■''* 

tr,n6  tnore.' .  I 
swÈrarTTÉë 
jrou  ma^  ymt 


/fe^ 


»>.•' 


.  "  Good,by.  thM,"  he  8ays  ;  <<  for  it  i,  fo„v„  |  " 

He  takes  one  lui  glance/  half  lindly,  half  reeretfuUv 
ar^und  U,.  pre,.y  ™„„.  „„e  last  look  a.  *;  sre,„.  ij^^*!"' 

he  quote*  grimly,  and  dien  a  hand  is  laid  upon  his  arm  La 
he  tums  to  6ee  t^he  pale,  anxiou.  fac*  of  Marie     • 
"  Well  ?  "  she  says  under  her  breath'. 

i^pilr  H'owh""r"'"-'"  *"**"  '"«'"•  "««  » 

impiacaDle.     How  has  she  received  you  ?  " 

have'tïï';;,^:!!I';^""'"'*'"""'•'<''^'^'■  "«■»'•  you 

"That  Reine  is  guMess.  fear  nothing;  she  does  not 
suspect  yo»,  she  does  «ot  d«am  weW  ^u  She  W  ùe 
blan,e  o   n.y  changea  conviction,  upon  O'SuUiyan     W  1 

«^rintr  rrr"  ^°"  "■"  ■-•  -"^  d^isala-^ddl 
Ha»  may  be of  theàtmost  *=r,ice  to  you  eventOalIy.» 

The  touch  of  satire  inhi,  tone  make,  her  wince.  But  Ae 
^e^lT"  "^    SheVWs.and  iooks  hu^bied'^^ 

"Whu  an.  tio  do?  A  déserve  your  c()i.(en.pt_«o« 
a.an  yoûr  cootempt  j  b«t/l  think  if  you  kne^Xt  i  sZ? 
c«^J.uwou.dsp^ J'   I„„,J„i«J"t;'-^^ 

«ntfen— willyougivemfeheraddres,?"  .     f^      ■ 
•'  I  do  not  knoir  it.  ^^e'i.  ^  n»^  y,^  CSullivan  teU. 


ittohim. 


.cowfu,  t:.at  it  to.c,:^^'^^'^^:^^^^ 
%«Da  not  blâme  your8clftoomuch,''he  «y.,  kipdly.    "W«(  .. 


/. 


^' 


>V 


434 


WITH  EMPTTED  AJtMS»  ETC. 


havc  ail  been  Wrong,  but  regrets  are  useless.  To  en  va 
human,  and  we  havc  ail  shown  ourselves  very.  human  To 
forgive  is  divine,-ftnd  knowing  your  sister  as  I  know  ber  now, 
I  bave  a  convioeion  sbe  will  one  day  forgivé  us." 

She  lifts  her^  èy«s  to  bis  face,  and  he  secs  tears  trehibling 
m  the  gold  brown  beauty  of  their  depths. 

"Monsieur,"  sbe  falters,  "is  there  any  sort  of  news  of^ 
htm  f  " 

"Durand?  None,  I  an»  thahkful  to  sây.  He  is  too 
clerer  a  fellow  to  be  caugbt  M ake  your  mind  easy,  they 
will  not  find  him." 

"  Wbat  a  wretch  yon  roust  tbink"  bim,"  she  says,  coi^ering* 
ber  face,  witb  a  sort  of  sob  ;  «and  yct  he  is  not.  A  gam- 
bler  he  may  be—that  is  bis  besetttng  passion,  but  a  tbief— oh  ! 
no,  no,  no,  he  is  not  that  My  going  witb  Mrs.  Dexter 
maddened  him— he  wanted  to  foUow,  to  do  perhaps  some 
desperate  deed,  and  in  that  desperation  he  entered  and  stole 
this  money.  It  bas  been  ail  my  fault  from  first  to  last.  How 
shaU  I  answer  to  Heaven  and  to  him  for  tbe  sin  I  bave 
done?" 

/♦Don't  cry,**  Longworth  says,  uneasily.  He  has  ail  a 
raan's  nervous  terror  of  a  woman's  tears,  but  be  thinks  l^er 
of  Marie  Durand  in  this  hour  than  be  has  ev«r  done  before. 
"There  is  one  thing  I  would  like  to  say  to  you,  if  I  may 
witboat  paining  you.    It  concems  Frank  Dexter." 

She  sbrinks  at  tbe  name  ;  pain  and  shame  are  in  the  face 
she  averts  from  his  searching  eyes. 

V  It  is  this  :  Don't  fool  the  poor  boy  any  longer.  You 
don't  mean  anything  by  it,  of  course,  but  it  may  be  a  sort  of 
death  tobim.  It  ii  amazing  the  aroount  of  barra  a  coquette 
can  do  a  young  fe»o#  like  Dexter,  and  withont  much  mean. 
ing  to  burt  him  either.  Make  him  go  ;  and  to  make  him,  I  . 
âro  «fraid  you  must  tell  hîm- 


^iiavrtotd  hiœ,-  Bftc  ihferrapts^  iS  à  «tîôed  r<Àt9.     — 
•  Sô  I  "  Longworth  says»  «ad  looks  11  ber  keeoly.    He 


A 


.,»' 


3l 


-.p'Hi-t^' 


ETC. 

tless.     To  err  iî 
very.  human     To, 

I  know  her  now, 

ua." 
}  tears  tirnibling 

Mi  of  news  of^— 

MKjr.     He  is  too 
mind  easy,  they 

le  aays,  co^ering«  • 
is  not.  A  gam- 
but  a  thief— oh  ! 
ith  Mrs.  pexter 
o  perhaps  soine 
ntered  and  stole 
rsttolast.  How 
the  sin  I  hâve 

He  has  ail  a 
be  thinks  ^er 
'«r  donc  bèfore. 
o  you,  il  I  may 
xter.'* 
s  are  in  the  face 

y  long».  Yott 
aay  be  a  sort  of 
tarm  a  coquette 
mt  mtfdi  naean- 
to  make  him,  I 

M  Toict» 

ôf  keenly.    He 


.:ik 


*  W'-'T'Ar  EMPTIED  ARMS,  '  ETC. 


■  *«toi;*i«,'«'^-'.«'i-.  ^i"-»''   C".  '    <" 


/i 


3»"  ■ 


425 

tiusteH  vm.  .«  ;      r  -,  ^  i^iXiex  bitterly  ;    «he 

Lhl  qu«n  hlyand  rose  in  ooe'  at  die  botlon.  of  ie«ll  » 

>  weil  ^    ''^'"'  ^'-     ^'  ^^  ^'^»k  Dexter's  fare- 

!•  I  hâve  very  little  to  savto  von  »' I,- I i        .^       .  . 

V«u  Idl  me  to  foTKt  von     T  „  '       '^'  *"''  ■»"  f"'  '"y  tt"l«. 

Kst  ,«v_i,  i.  ,„if.  °  fe    Tri"'"  °""  '•»  i'-    A.  („  your  «cret, 

Wn.  «d  .hi.  ?ri  *d  ^^ev^  t^  ^. -'«^  f  e.w«. 


I 


"K' 


;*■■' 


426 


««  »77Zr  EMPTTED  ARMS;^  BTC, 


\ 


"What  story  ?"  Longworth  had  asked,  wearily  throwing 
himself  into  a  chair.  He  knew  there  would  be  a  scène,  and 
shrànk  from  it  impatiently. 

"  This  horrible,  this  cruel  story  that  Reine  Landelle  ha« 
had  to  run  away,  her  only  friend  in  the  world  that  pooi 
little  O'Sullivan,  àïd  yoM^you,  Laurence,  chief  among  ber 
açcusers." 

He  tries  to  explain — tties  to  défend  .himself.  She  listens, 
.the  angry  color  deepening  in  her  face,  the  angry  light  ithin- 
ing  in  her  eyes. 

"  And  this  is  ^^aurence  Longworth  !  "  she  exclaims  ;  *'  thiç 
nian  who  hunts  down  a  defenseless  gîrl,  whose  two  worst 
crimes  are  that  she  bas  promised  to  niarry  him,  and  that  she 
is  too  brave  to  defe^nd  herseif  at  the  expense  of  another  I  this 
.  man  who  takes  sides  with  a  heartless  oïd  woman,  knowing  her 
to  be  merciless  as  pnly  one  woman  can  be  to  ^nother,  whose 
yearsandgray  hairs  hâve  brought  her  neither  charity  toward 
God  nor  raanl  Oh  I  shame,  shamel  I  refused  to  believe 
it — I  would  not  believe  it  ;  and  now,  out  of  your  own  mouth 
you  stand  condemned  1" 

He  tries  to  speak,  pale,  troubled,  every  word  stabbing 
him,  but  she  will  not  listen. 

"You  could  look  în  her  face  and  doubt  her— that  t|M^, 
brave,  innocent  child's  face/  You  i could  know  her  nearly 
sixjnonths,  and  believe  her  capable  of  treachery  and  crime. 
Oh  I  man,  shame  upon  you  I  I  tell  Lrou  that  if  my  own  eyes 
saw,  my  own  ears  heard,  I  would  not  believe  theîr  évidence, 
if  she  told  me  they  deceived  me.  If  Reine  is  falsç,  then 
there  is  no  truth  left  on  earth.  Only  the  night  sheflfed— 
driven  away  homeless,  friendless,  penniless,  by  you  and  that 
woman — she  came  hère  to  me,  ail  heir  misory  in  her  despair^ 
ing  face,  poor,  poor  childl  ail  her  h<îart-break  in  her  Tjeau- 
tiful  eyes,  and  talked  to  me  of  her  old  home  in  France,  aal 


dear  to  her.'    She  had  not  touched  food  ail  day,  she  wm 


n'ir" 


». . 


■■  m:' 


^#' 


i     - 


.,*'■ 


A 


ETC. 

wearily  throwing 
d  be  a  scène,  and 

line  Landelle  ha« 
world  that  pooi 
chief  among  her 

lelf.     She  listens, 
angry  light  shin- 

exclaims;  **thi| 
Hrhose  two  worst 
lim,  and  that  she 
sofanotherl  this 
aan,  knowing  her 

0  another,  whose 
er  charity  toward 
îfused  to  believe 
your  own  raouth 

'  Word   stabbing 

her— that  tfj^f 
:now  her  nearly 
hery  and  crime, 
t  if  my  own  eyes 
i  theîr  évidence, 
le  is  falsç,  then  ■ 
night  shefl^d — 
by  you  and  that 
r  in  her  despaii^ 
ak  in  her  "beau- 

1  in  France»  an] 
(en  bul  àlMrajrt 
1  ûa>y,  she  wai 


"  '^^^^  ^AiPTlED  ARStS:^  ETC. 


_  _.  4a; 

feintmg  with  fasting,  and  ,re  sat  toirether  in  »H  . 
.he  took  so^ething  before  she  wenf^  "  ffTD  'f 
known,  do  you  think  she  would  hâve  In^Ln  ^°"'^ 

would  hâve  let  her  go  ?    Or  if  h.r  ^   gone-do  you  th.nk  I 

too  great  to  be  born':  her^  do  ylulSl  ^o'  T''  T^ 
gone  with  her  ?    Your  Mr  O'q.dî"  ""^"^  """^  ^*^« 

.  «-"ant  gentlen,.n;rnd^hen  .^^^^^^^^^^  "  *  T  '"^"'  ^"^  * 
togo  to  your  office  and  thanfe  L  L"  Fo/  ^''  T  ^"  '^ 
friend  nqniore^I  want  to  ^1        \  ^°"'  '  *™  >'°"»- 

never  believe  again  Z  .^        ?!"  ''"'^  "°  «'*>^«-     ^  ^i"  ' 
in  mortal  «1%,/?  '  '^''"  '^  ^^^"'  orcommon  sensé  left 

"Whatl"  Longworth  says   with  «fh.,      ^  ^^ 

«notevenihO'Sullivan?''  hJhI  u  ^^''^^'-^-^m^e, 
his  hati  «  We  hâve  been  . «.^  r  !  *"  '^^^  "^^^  "  ^"^^  ^akes  - 
Heste.  but  X  ^l  '^Z^.  reuï  T  d^t^h^l 
may  hâve  been  wrong-Heaven  kn!!!'  ^  '"^''*-  ^ 
-  ousy  .ay  hâve  blindel  n  "ari^u  sTyli^n:"  ^V^^' 
nght     If  I  hâve  made  a  mistake  tZ'  r  r^*"'  ^  ''** 

Cawdace  admits  him     v,-»  u        •    .   .  "^ 

,  Vy^^^th  empued  „m8  and  treasurt.^1^^^  _ 

.1  bl««  TW^lMle  my|d*y.  go  on.» 

**WiA^mptiedatTO» 


tingwords  greet  him  ?  *^  ^""""f  ^*»t^'.;H;ottM  taon»  fi* 
«o  Lk  dis^tJ^  ^-^  «'»?^,  -^^ 


\ 


&'■ 


4= 


.,•   î  i  .  ^      '  i  * 


\ 


438 


**WITH  EMPTIED  ARMS**  ETC. 


"  Hestcr,'*  he  say»,  "  I  hâve  come  back  in  the  charactei 
of  t|ie  prodigal,  erring  bat  pénitent.  I  hav»  come  to  own  I 
hâve  been  a  fool — the  greatest  fool  that  ever  drew  breath — 
to  tell  70U  Reine  Landelle  is  ail  ybu  hâve  thought  her,  and 
more— noble,  brave,  tnie,  loving,  and  loyal  unto  death." 

"  I  knew  it  I  "  Miss  Hariott  cries,  joyfuUy.  "  Mr  O'Sul- 
livan  tis  back,  and  she  has  proved  her  truth.  Thank  Heaven 
for  that  I    And  she  will  forgive  you,  and  ail  will  be  well  ?  ^ 

She  catches  his  hand — it  is  quite  évident  she  at  least  finds 
it  easy  to  forgive  him — ^and  st^ds  looking  at  him  with  eager 
eyes. 

"  O'SuUivan  is  back,  and  her  truth  is  forever  beyond  a 
ahadow  of  doubt,"  he  answers.  "But  forgiven — no,  J  am 
not  that,  and  in  ail  likelihood  never  will  be." 

"  Nonsense  !  "  cries  Miss  Hariott,  energetically  ;  <'  don't 
I  know  the  girL  I  tell  you  she  covld  not  cherish  enmity  if 
ihe  tried,  and  then  she " 

"  Liked  you  far  too  well,"  is  on  the'tip  of  her  ^igue,  but 
she  bites  that  unruly  member,  and  stops  short 

"She  is  very  proud,  jiou  would  say,"  he  suppléments 
calnily.  "  Yes,  and  that  pride  has  received  a  mortal  wound. 
A  far  less  spirited  girl  might  find  forgiveness  hère." 

"  Tell  me  ail  about  it,"  says  Miss  Hariott,  drawing  a  chair 
close,  and  looking  at  him  delightedly.  **  Where  is  she,  and 
what  does  she  say  ?    Tell  me  ail  Mr.  O' Sullivan  told  you." 

"Rather  a  difficult  and  disagreeable  task,"  he  answers, 
sroiling  slightly.  "  I  hâve  grown  used  to  extreinely  plain 
speaking  within  the  last  twelve  hours.  There  is  no  epithet 
in  Mr.  O'Sullivan's  vocabulary  too  hard  to  apply  to  me. 
Reine  is  well,  he  tells  me  ;  is  in  New  York  with  friends  of 
his,  who  will  be  good  to  her,  ànd  intends  to  eam  her  own 
li'ving  henceforth — by  teaching,  I  suppose.  Of  Durand  of 
çourae  i^e  knows  nothing.    Her  addreas  O'SuUivan  will  not 


ghre  I  and— oiat  11  lot  lAeie  illo  âilC* 


«*AU?» 


#-» 


\\- 


••  WITH  EMPTIBD  ARMS,**  ETC.  439 

She  looHat  him  searclHftgly. 

vil^t  nï  r  '*'''\*"  '^'^  '^  ^""'^  y°"'  >«^"«"  "«»t  go 
r^^theOSulhvan.     I  think  «he  wiU  bc  glad  to  hear  fron. 

"Yoirhave  written,  I^urence?» 

«Je«^?o  W.i1r  '"'  '    ^  '^""^  *  ^*"*^^  ^~*^  l^"  ««ter,  to  be 
givento  O'Sulhvan.  at  this  moment  in  my  pocket" 
Ah  I  you  ha^  been  at  the  Stone  Housc  ?  " 
Just  corne  direct  from  there."  ^ 

'•AndMadam  Windsor?"  ^ 

"  Refuses  to  listen  to.  a  word.     Mrs.  Windsor  is  withoul 
exception  the  best  hâter  I  know." 
"  And  Marie—what  says  shc  to  ail  this  ?  " 
Again  her  keen  eyes  look  %%  him  searchingly,  but  Lonir- 
worth^s  face  wearsitsmtwîmpassive  expression  * 

shine!^  "^  **^*^"^  **^  ^.  «^«'  <«d  i^  the  sun- 

maiine"^!!!^».'''"  ^'^  "^"^  '***'  woman.after  the  shameful 
hi«in?'iLfîî"w"f  ^"'  ^  ^°"  ^'^  ^*^°"g  '^^  merciVul-in 

of  the  fidd  neither  abie  to  toil  nor  spin>^e  wiU  only  add 
to  her  «ster's  wretchedness  if  she  permits  herself  to  be  cast  ^ 
off    She  m,«t  kiss  that  greftt  lad/s  hand,  and  be  thankfui 
for  the  crumbs  that  fall  from  ber  table." 
orTt.^'lnH*^"  'y^^'^'^^y  ?P^^^  hermouth,  thinks  better 
what  ntht  iT  *^K  «>»^  ^«y  »t«-ong  words.     Aft«  ail, 

^^  tll^  «^  to  ciy  ont  because  the  world  is  unjast  and 
«elfish,  and  the  innocent  suflfers  for  th«  guilty>  ÏUs  the 
iiniversana.  gf  the  world.  agd  ,he  is  nlt^^^gl»;  ^ 


"•^"♦ï'B-vï^hgl^ht. 

She  has  bçen  unjust  in  her  own  way,  toc  ;  she  has  ihought 
«»me  veiy  hard  and  bitter  tWngs  of  thi^  friend  before  J^ 


430 


"  WITH  EMPTIED  ARMS»  ETC. 


I 


i     \ 


,^  forgetting  that  while  she  saw  with  the  clear,  calm,  far-sighted 
eyes  of  friendship,  he  looked  with  the  blind  vision  of  love. 
She  has  misjudged  hira,  for  1^  has  suflFered,  does  suffer— shê 
can  read  it  iû,  his  face,  .altho^igh  in  tfiat  face  to  casual  eyes 
there  is  but  little  change.  ' 

^    "Larry,"  she  WA  caressingly,  and  lays  her  hand  oii  his 
arm,  «  I  hope  yoù  will  not  let  yourself  feel  this  too  deeply. 
'Titné  at  last  makes  ail  things  even,'  you  know,  and  fhis» 
hke  more  of  life's  mistakes,  is  but  a  question  of  tirae  and 
patience.     I  suppose  there  is  no  lôss  that  has  not  its  com- 
pensatin^gain  ;  yourgain  in  this  is  so  thorough  a  knowledge 
of  Reine's  goodness  thiàt  to  doubt  her  a  second  lime  will  be 
impossible.     You  know  her  as  she  is,  pure  and  true,  ready  to 
brave  more  flian  death  to  serve  those  she  loves,  ready  to  perish 
rather  than  bfeak  her  word.     You  wîîl'think  bette^r  of  ail 
women  for  hei  sake-you  will  b4  ytetter  and  truer  man 
yourself.for  the  pain  and  loss  où^^si}.» 

But  Longworth  does  not  Ms^.  He  rises,  looking  cold 
ànd  pale,  ani  turns  abrug^  from  her.  There  are  some 
wounds  so  keenly  sensitiv/that  the  touch  of  a  fealher  makes 
the  whole  body  wince.     * 

His  good-night  is  brief  and  curt;%nd  he  Joes  home  slowly 
thrpugh  the  dark,  m.^choly  night. 

*  ..Wljère  is  she  ?  hè  wonders.  What  is  she  doing  alone  in 
that  greatcity  ?  Her  image  rises  before  him  as  he  saw  her 
that  day  m  Hester  Hariott's  garden-a  girl  in  gray,  with 
scarlet  breast-knots,  éloquent  face,  and  flashing  eyes,.  vowing 
to  hâte  him  her  whole  life  long.  He  recalls  h^  half-admir- 
mg,  whoUy  amused,  he  stood  and  fell  in  Içve  ^rith  her,  and 
registered  a  vow  on  his  own  part  to  changé,  Wt  hatred,  if 
man  could  do  it  Time  and  destiny  had  aided  him,  and  in 
the  veiy  dawning  of  the  love  he  sought  he  had  Ihrust  it  from 
him  with  insuit  aod  sconk„-  '      * 


m 


hâve  been  his,  bat  it  is  rcserved  for  this  night  to  teach  him 
what  treal  rembrse  aod  despair  mean.    .' 


7:j§,- 


f  r" 


,i,     {.  ; 


.  *.&,,  - 


*« 
i(i'#iii''i  ' 


•'i*i»îï'A8,\, 


«f 


Ti 


DURAND, 


43t 


foès  home  slowrly 


>S). 


]  . 


CHAPTER  XXXI. 

DURAND, 


life  ha.  corne  V.^'T,  !•  "  '"  ^""'"«  Long-'orth-, 
«n.  to  the  d„ll  drab  of  everyX  but  T>f'  •"?*  !??'" 
"nonths  LnZ  "^  """l ''«'''-  "«ks  are  serung  i„,„ 

off and «, asked  Marie  U^^ielo ™°"''i*".«°"^ 
disgrâce  haa  been  too  deep  even  LT^,  u  .""  """» 
«o  overloofc.    Old  Mr   tL^l  '  '""^  '"''  °«'" 

has  .hreatened  ,o  d"^-h^"trf  he  V"^  """"  ™"  =  "'' 
Aud  Frank  haâ  gi,e„  hTr  „o     \         "^  ""'  «*"«  l'"  "P- 

«■■"«  he  went  awaTX  .  *^'"''«  """  '^  P»fe  ««r 

losing  half  her  beau^i    .:      •  *     "^  ""'°"'  »»<•  »  - 


««  *«  ver,  bri„r"s  tT.::tz:^z  xt-  ^ 


n«.j 


•It  >. 
'.\^' 


*  *  *  £!4ife<V  ff  ~j(f 


'.*!.' 


/' 


^ÏJ-       n  -^r"^  ,,  '-     'K 


432 


dvrand\ 


sits  silent  and  moody  in  the  midst  of  the  boarderé,  no  wonder 
that  swift  flasn  leàps  into  his  eyes,  br  that  scowl  darkens  his 
fece  at  the  refnotest  alltision  to  the  unlucky  aflfair. 

Mrs.  Sheldon  watches  him  silentiy  and  wistfiilly,  with  exuU 
talion  iii  her  heart,  and  sham  sympatby  in  her  eyes.  He 
■ces  neither.  The  coolest  courtesyjJecency  will  permit  is 
m  his  manner,  when  it  is  impossible  to  ignore  her  altogether. 
In  some^Rray  ^e  vaguely  fcels  she  is  rejoicing  in  Reine's 
downfall,  and  something  ytry  like  aversion  rises  within  him 
whei  they  meet.  .         ^^ 

Christmas  an^  New  Year  go  by  drearily  enoùgh,  the  end 
of  Janiiary  comeà.  Mij*  O'SulIivan  bas  spent  thd  holidays  in 
New  York  with  his  friend  Mrs.  Murphy,  and  makes  hfe  tem- 
porarily  bright  for  «.eine  by  taking  her  and  her  stout  friend 
everywhere.  He  bas  forgiven  his  chief— he  is  niuch  too 
genertfiw  to  bear  ill-will,  and  thè  anxious,  questîoning  look  of 
Longworth's  eyes,  when  he  returns,  gives  him  a  twinge  of 
something  very  like  compassion. 

"  Is  there  any  answer,  O,  or  any  message  ?  "  Longworth 
asks,  a  sudden  eager  flush  rising  in  his  face. 
And  the  answer  cornes  slowly. 
«  Not  a  Word,  chief.     She's  well,  and  bas  your  letter. 

But  sure,  «I  think ^" 

"Ahl  never  minci  that,  O'SulIivan,"  Longworth  says, 
wearily,  tuming  away  and  resuming  wdrk. 

"  I  wouldn't  be  too  despondent,  my  boy,  if  I  were  you,*^ 
cries  O'SulIivan,  cheerily;  ««go  on  as  you've  begun;  sure 
'tis  only  /air  to  court  her  before  you  marry  her,  ând  upon  my 
honor  and  conscience,  it  was  mighty  queer  courting  ye  did 
when  ye  had  her.  We  hâve  a  saying  at  home,  *  that  patience 
«nd  persévérance  made  a  bishop  of  his  révérence.'  They're 
not  the  virtues  you'U  be  canonized  for,  I  think  myself,  but  a 
little  practice  of  thcm  will  do  ye  a  deal  of  good.    If  thèse 


piwai yôtfre  wôïfcng  at  are  ready, TÏT tSfce  t>em,  dbief." 
And  io  he  goesj  and  «*  it  i»  alwayi^^arjd  Longworth  sits 


^.,Aî^M|f  ' 


;>^ 


im 


"'''^*-' 


;-(-) 


'x'-.f-  j-_  i: 


>arderê,  no  wonder 
scowl  darkens  his 
y  affair. 

âstfuUy,  with  exul- 
in  her  eyes.  Hè 
ncy  will  pennit  is 
îre  her  altogether. 
ioicing  in  Reine's 
ï  rises  within  him 

r  enoùgh,  the  end 
;nt  thé  holidays  in 
d  niakes  life  tem- 
d  her  stout  friend 
-he  i$  niuch  too 
uestioning  look  of 
him  a  twinge  of 

ge?"  Longworth 


has  your  letter. 

Longworth  says, 

',  if  I  were  you,H 
l've  begun;  sure 
ker,  ànd  upon  my 

courting  ye  did 
le,  '  that  patience 
rence.*  They're 
ink  myself,  but  a 

goodL    If  thèse 


tf  cm,  chief." 
d  Longworth  aiti 


x; 


hSÎ< 


DURAND.. 


433 


once  that  pleading  cry  for  !L  ^"V'".''«  »"'y  answered 

»;».*«  ra..  ohi,f  rt^'<^t.s:r°""  ''^-^  ^"^ 

that  i„  h.aJiC/2?'^""'"  '  """"  "  ""  ^ho-™ 
"«-'ovedlHinhe  Lr  pT"^"-  ^O"  «yj"»-  love 
l-ard  to  believe     Wh^^.  i        •  *^'"'  ""  '^  ^  «"''  *«  vfery 

ters,theyare;-ve rit-V  Th?,*™"-  '''  '"'^"^  '-■>  -- 
it  doubtl  I  nZ^LT,  T  "-°™  "°  '»"8erwben 
hâve  .ïusted;^"^"'^."""^^  f"' r»"-  but  I  wou.d 
b«n  twice  as'sLgy.^r"'  ^'=''"'»^'«"»  hâve 
your  .ord  agaiuet  a«  the^^u  '°l'  7""  *ave  be.ieved 
'oyourletters.     Iwil    noTjlt   °°.  "°'  "'«'"■o^  »»««« 

it  no  more.     We  1«  ^L  '  î"  "^  '°"''  ""'•«-'hink  of 

«o.  n,ake  you  Lr     "7^"''i'»  ««">  o.her_I  wouM 

.  "  Yet  I  wUl  «ay  wJwt  friends  may  say. 
O'onlyathoughtstroiiger," 


/ 


ii^:-^.' 


é» 


-^i 


II 


'.i^"'^* 


\ 


•'-"»  ■'^J'•.^;^ .'-","' 


i*>,.- 


434 


■f 


'> 


DVRAND. 


on  forever,  his  probarion  would  end,  antj  Iteiqçbe  restored 
How  often  Mr.  Longworth  read  thaMetter^^how  and  where  it 
was  treasured  bccomes  us  not  to  tell.  AnyiJnng  more  pro- 
saie  and  uni-çmantic  than  a  hewspaper  edito^the  heart  of 
inan  hath  not  conceived  ;  but  under  the  influence  of  the  ten- 
der  passion,  that  befools  ail,  evep  he  may  someti^s  swerve 
from  the  straight  path  of  practical  cornmon  senaç  ^nd  be  par^ 
doned.  .         ^    j 

And  isitnotwritten  that,  »«Tosay  the  truth,  reason  and 
love^keep  httle  company  novadayl  The  more  the  pity  that 
somfe  kind  neighbor  will  not  niake  them  frjends  !" 

Febraary  cornes,  sieety  and  rainy,  in  wintry  winds  and 
New  England  snow-storms,  and  brings  with  it  the  first  break 
in  the  blank.  It  ççwaes  in  the  shape  of  a  letter  from  Frank 
Dexter.         ^        ▼  \ 

.  '  ■       '      ■  ' *^-        '      ". 

,  •%it^within  the  range  ofpossibilities,"  writes  Mr.  Dex- 
ter, ♦*  corne  ^owrn  at  once.  In  point  of  fact,  whéther  it  be 
possible  ot'  impossible,  you  musf  corne.  The  dear  old  gover- 
npr  is  véry  ill— général  break-up  of  everything—and  he  calls 
for  you.  Corne  immediately,  forhe  cannot  hold  out  more 
than  two  or  three  weeks  at  most." 

In  the  twilight  of  a  wUd  March  day  Longworth  reads  this, 
and  as  he  reads  there  rises  before-him  a  vision  of  the  long- 
gone  past.  The  snow-shrou^,  wind-blown  streets  vanish, 
and  in  their  place  comes  back  the  sunny,  sensuou^  southern 
landscape,  the  songs  of  the  negroes  at  work  in  the  fields,  the 
vine-wreathed,  tree-shaded  old  house,  and  the^  grira-'browed, 
imperious,  stormy  old  master,  the  uncle  ever  ^eneroas  and 
kind  to  hira.  What  an  ungrateful  young  blockhead  fhe  has 
shown  himself  in  that  past  time,  what  a  debt  of  gratitude  he 
owed  that  old  man,  if  for  nothing  else  than  that  he  hàd 
bought  oflf  Mrs.  Longworth,  and  saved  him  from  tht  moral 
•hipwreck  of  being  her  daugh^cr's  husbaad. 


1^ He  départs  next  mormng,  and  reaches  the  old-homestèad 
4^tei«tliçaft«iiqQnofage9|al8pri^lik«4i«r.    Aihcridei 


ii 


u 


•J» 


•  "  ^''^  *  j«^-^«4-è 


DURAND. 


435 


,      np  the  long  sweep  of  drive  he  recaUs  vividlv  his  \..,     •  v 
ever  fare  "eir    W^^^^^^^  Wm  for- 

Frank  cornes  out  to  mf>f>^.  h:»,  -  j  t 
quîclc  keen   hoif       •      T         "'  *"**  Longworth  gives  a 

,;;  An.  I  intime  ?"Lo„g,„U,3,^^    •  -       ;         . 

In  tin,e,and  Ihat  is  ail,"  Frank  responds'-  "th.  H„., 

«ingbythe  bedside.  holding  ^^"Ibl^nAu^T"'''''' 
Mrs.  Dexter  has  Iri^d  .„  'Cpare^th^^  *  "'"''  ""  "* 
ha,  half.,,arted  „p  „id,  a  M  c^      *'  "^'"^  "»"'  •""  '■^, 

"I^rencel  Laurence^     Corne  bâck  at  last  I     H,  '.  vi    ' 
ne  never  would  corne  I  i'Or.  k  •  '    v     .        ^        "'  '*"J 

fannliar,  yet  so  strange.  *  ^'  "^ 

bur^n^' '  ''^^"8^^'  <=»»*"ged,»*e.  raurmurs.  '* Nothin. 
Dut  change  as  wegrowrold.  He  was  nnW  »  k  tù  .  "*"« 
eyed  and  smooth-Led  and  he  iJT      k^  *^y^«"'  ^righ 

but "  ^  ««wy  a  nme  and  say  fh^.,  y^nluj:    - 


1: 


*-k'  ?.. 


,.*'.»«.  -y'"'' 


^  ^ 
»'*> 


: 


'tW 


s  f\ 


0 


456 


id!»» 


DURAND, 


ter  was  hère,  and  I  might  hâve  tbought  you  had  retumed  foi 
|e  sake  of  ^  inheritance  1  But  I  never  cared  for  young 
Dexter,  thoùgh  l've  dealt  fairly  by  the  la^_a  good  lad  too 
and  net  overstocked  with  brains.  But  I  .wantfed  you  back 
Laurence— oh  1  I  wai^led  you  back.and  I  told  Chapman  to 
Write  that  letter,  and  you  wouldû't  Corne.  WeU,  well,  well  I 
Ifs  aU  over  now,  and  I  hâve  forgiven  you;and  you  are  hère 
at  last  And  you  didn't  marçy  the  little  Sheldon,  my  boy 
after  ail— how  was  that  ?  "  ' 

1       "My <Iear  uncle,  I  owe  you  maiiy  debts  of  gratitudfe,  but 
V  there  x%  not  one  of  them  ail  I  feef  so  deeply  as  that.     You 
were  my  earthly  salvation  in  those  mad  days  of  my  youth  and 
besotted  folly.»  ^    . 

"  Ahl  you  can  own  it  now.  And  what  is  this  other  sbry 
Ellen  tells  me  of  a  Uttle  French  girl  ?  Well-you  don't'like 
It,  I  see-only  take  care,  take  care.  Oh,  my  boy,  my  bby,  it 
is  good  to  look  on  your  face  againl"     - 

He  keeps  him  by  his  side  through  tiie  long  hours;  he  falls 
a^pep,  clasping  his  hand,  at  last. 

«Stay  with  me,  Larry,"  he  says,  "it  will  not  be  for  long 
now.  And  it  is  such  a  weary  while— oh  !  such  a  weary  while 
smce  you  sat  by  my  side  before.  AU  thèse  yeais  l've  wanted 
you,  and  forgiven  you,  and  longed  for  you,  but  you  were 
proud  and  wouldn't  corne.  Young  Dexter  never.  could  fiU 
youf  place,  though  l've  dealt  fairly  by  the  lad— no  one  shall 
ever  sây  other  than  that." 

Hc; drops  asleep,  stiU  clasping  «his  boy's '^ \and,  and 
through  the  long  hours  of  that'  last  night  Longworth  sits  be- 
side  him,  silent  and  sad,  watching  the  feeble  flicker  of  life . 
die  out.  He  is  a  very  old  màn,  and  death  is  ç^^ming  gently 
as  the  slumber  ofca  child.  Frank  shares  his  watch,  sometimes 
wttinropposite,  sometimes  roaming  resttessly  but  noiselesây 
"P  *°°  down.    And  just  ^  the  day  is  breakin^  the  cAdT^^^a^ 


opênsTiis  eyes  ftom  that  long  stupor-Uke  sleep,  and  gazea 
wil^ly  around. 


l^. 


%■ 


■:    '7 

1  had  retumed  foi 
'  cared  for  young 
—a  good  lad  too 
anfëd  you  l^ack, 
told  Chapman  to 
Welt,  well,  well  I 
ind  you  are  hère 
iheldon,  my  boy, 

of  gratitiidie,  but 
>ly  as  that.  You 
of  my  youth  and 

this  other  slory 
I — you  don't'like 
K  boy,  my  bdy,  it 

g  hours  ;  he  falls 

■  *. 

not  be  for  long 
ch  a  weary  while 
sais  l've  wanted 
I,  but  you  were 
never.could  fill 
tl — ^no  one  shall 

K's"  liand,  and 
igworth  sits  bê- 
le flicker  of  life  . 
C^s^ming  gently 
atch,  sometiines 
'  but  noiselesây 
Jig.ihe.jQldJban 


leep,  and  gazei 


'Sff-i^ 


.s/*,;,  -^ 


/ 


f-'rfft 


,  -    »  '  ■'p     -i  i-V^f^yj  "f"  '%    '»  *j.^^At'^^i~'''h<-"i--  ^«•s(«y        "^-"'^  ip'I.W'^S*'"'  ^ 


u- 


DURAND. 


<lt 


"  I  dreamed  Laurence  vas  hère— my  lov  La„r,„,.  i ..  v 
crie,  out,  a„d  i.„„g^„^  ^^^  above  hlT  •  "' 

„;/,.""  ""«•  »''-■'  "«  -o  *«am.    Do  yo„  „„,  k„„w 

A  smile  of  recosiirion  lights  up  the  old  lace. 
backi,t:r.."^^°^'"  "'"^     ""«w,ou.o„,dco™, 

lyinginthechurchyf^bey^nd  »a„„/     "k''""»"'""''  '? 

.eithe,  of  his  nephew,  dr^ed  L  ^S  ^^  •'ï*" 
^ly  ^..wee. -«.e™.  each  iwsionrr^ctrnf  r* 

The  ho  young  men  walk  up  and  do«,  te  sflenLwhae 
*e  ^^c  ou.  an.^  daa^ness  m.    Long^o^JÎ!!: 

"  I  shall  be  off  to-morrow  "*h^  ««c    «  c 
with  me.    You  ,00k  «*Ti^  ,^i  b^'Ï^TJZ  T; 
.  «rip  «.mewhere,  «,d  .hère  U  no  n„î  "f  yoT  "t^:^ 
~5_l^.,    V^,j^  can  «anage  .he  ^:^  S 


tt 


JLani  going^». 


•    ■  -  ,  ^-    A 

r-respôna^UTther  mobdîly. 


want  to  see.     I  wish  tQ  heavcn  I  had  ncver  seen  itj 


1    .*♦;-  ■'.■; 


"^^ 


'il. 


^wn'iV-'^ 


4r~>i.   -^,  p-  T  —  ■ni^fl'î^-'  «T*?j 


r^ 


438 


DURAND. 


^ 


':  i 


I  am  going  abroad  again-for  years,  this"time~*ml  1  dan't 
see  that  you  can  do  better  than  do  the  satne     17T. 
since  you  oossed  the  oc.a«,  and  Z^T.o^  f^Z 
you,  now.     Thro,^  the  Phmïx  to  the  dogs-tô  0'l!,ii 
rather-and  lék  us  be  ofil"  ;       '      ^      ^      ^  ^  ^""''^^"' 

"  Itrfpossible,"  Longworth  says.     "Mv  lifr  hoo  k  * 
n,o.ive  „„,.  ,„  fi„a  and  befo^;„  byKi,l5r  B^: 
you  dear  boy,  ,t  is  fc  ve^r  toe  for  you  to  sta«    by  ^ 

to-moiToiir,  andlwillseeyfttfoff."  «>  «ew  ïork 

So  it  U  settled.  «.d  muchto  ki.  mother-s  disma,  Frank 

«y,    Three  days  after  they  reach  New  York,  fb»  Xrj 
hauds.  aud  part  on  tb^Seck  of  a  Cunarder,  aud  Sl,:^!' 

;      Mr.  Longworth  lingèrs  on,  hunts^up  a  few  old  fn.nU»'     a 
spends  the  long  spring  davs  orettv  m„.k        a  ''  ^"'^ 

«treets.    Surelv  Jr  hf  r         ,      ^  wandering  about  the 

in  ™„  ^  ""^  ""''  "'"  *'  ^'^h"  »"1  hopes 

And  ,0,  restiès,  and  aimleB,  it  chance,  one  night  fif  anv 
.h.„g  ever  does  befall  by  chance)  that  he  finds  hl  jtf  S 
an  acquamtance,  who  likes  to  s<fe  life  in  ail  its  nh,.L  • 
r«o  bank.     I.  is  late.  and  «,.  rU  are  we  1  fiS  rV^; 
are  louenng  about  an,ong  the  plai(e«,  when  suddenly  a  vo.t 
low,  bUnd,  />-<,«a^,,  singuuriy  Uu„,„j  n,uriL'ly  "' 
eign  accented,  felU  on  Longworth^  ear 

Pardon  fr  *°""  T''''  *""-  "^^  "^  >•"  "^  «''"«? 
rardon,  if  I  misapprehend,  but  thàt  ia  whaf  «,««0; 

insinuated,  is  it  not?  "  "^^^         '  monsieur 

th.!  ^  ^'!^"^*«  «°*iog  J  "   sho^^rious  voice  :   "  I 

JÉ*Lj!:QnMYiLà^i.€heatinfc.<i^W^         .,,  ^  V  ^Tr-iL 

vAt'tuK.^inonneur^  Troin  tRe  Hrst  minute 


we  sat.down,  and  I  appeal  to  thèse  gentlemen  if. 


_»» 


,  ^ 


I     •; 


*  "  '^  ^'■r'^t?*^  i(  "•" 


'.:-^*,  -rmr^f^^^p^^^v^^ 


ime—- and  1  don't 
••  It  is  ten  yeara 
nothing  to  detain 
s— to  O'SuIIivan,    ' 

life  has  but  one 

>e  J^andélle.    But 

to  start   by  ail 

me  to  New  York 

's  dismay,  Frank 
is  very  long  jouri- 
ork,.tHey  shake 
and  Dexter.  has 

old  friends,  and 
fering  about  the 
oner  or  later  he 
-rd§  in  the  sanie 
niversal  shuffle. 
:hes  and  hopes 

e  night  (if  any-  i 

is  himsélf  with 
ts  phases,  in  a 
l  filled.  They 
ddenly  a  yoice, 
musically  for- 

been  cheateidl? 
monsieur 

oice;   "I  U!) 
îël^t  tnmiiru 


_»» 


'         -  ■   '  -        •   '1.    ,       ■      ♦       s 

\  '  '        '    '  ■';'''' 

6^rl't:^'}:r^'^\T^^'    «-^PonenthasaglasÉ  ' 

J  Both  men  leap  to  their  feet.    There  is  a  confused  sound     ' 


e  , 


-,^ 


CHAPTER  XXXII. 

AFTER   LONG  GRIEF  AND   PAIN." 

Mlles  O  Sull  van  sus  busily  and  virtuously  at  Vork 

tan,ac.ou,  of  men,  fte  editor  of  fte  Baymouth  If^  L 
he  slts,  one  of  the  office-boys  enlere  hasHlv  .  .  n  '  ' 
lope  m  his  hand.  Kastily-a  yellow  enve- 

"^ï>leÇmfoijrou^jii,.fa,rii  New  York  » 
genaen^an.  andTurlly   Ke^^'"  "f  f  "•  ^  '"'""  '"  *" 

Laurewce  Longwqrth.'* 


V 


So  J  of  t  .K  "■  *  •"«"«»*  «tupidly  staring  at  the  woi-ds 
So  Long^orth  ,s  m  New  York  I  and  what  does  this  mystl 
ous  message  mean?      Has  any  harm   befallen  L  chtf  >' 

fr  :t\  """""'  °^  ""''  "^^  ™-'  Durand  4tttof 
We  and /death  !  "     WTiat  does  it  mean  f  °^ 

"  ^y**  wajtjng, jttr._j^Q3^Answcr^  ^..^^ 


* 


"The  forisk  question  rouses  him» 
"Aiiswer?"  he  repcats.     ««Yes,  waitt 


^-4 


\      • 


■'J^ 


,t 


minute."    He 


i;^'/.  i- 


:h 


~*t*Sé&'0* 


>.^i? 


f«' .' 


w 


:»,-, 


■>fii<v.-<f  fV'ri^/Jto 


440 


-AFTBg  LOlfO  GSIBF  AUD  PAÙr.' 


ana  tonds  it  to  the  mesKnger,  who  départ». 

Ihe  sulwxlil»  winds  up  his  causlic  reniarks.in  a  »dd«n 

it  is  late  ,„  the  evemng,  and  qnite  dark  when  he  reach«i  th. 
-  y  and  „h,ris  „p  .0  Long„„,d..s  hotel.  and  LongZSn,  ^! 

tzt:^i:rr  '"  ""'''  "^"""^  "  °"  -'  **  °^" 

that s  dead  or  dy.ng,  and why  havç you  sent  for  „e ?" 
in  a  «ozen  words  LoAgworth  tells  him 
■      ^lwl^^"f~t'°'-  '"  *  «^'"''«■'g  hell,  and  dying  hère 

"n.rr:;;;:f-  ''*'""  -^-^  ■'  '^  ">  '«">  »«  •<>  «->  1  ^1:: 

loflg  breath  of  rehef  ;  «  I  thoughe  i.  was  worse."  * 

Ii„-  .h  ""u        '"""''  """"  f"  P""  Durand.     He  won'l 

^e  .  e  „,gh  o,u-«,  the  doctor,  say.    Yo„  had  b«'  b7„ff 

OSullrvan,  if  he  is  to  meet  Reine  aliv.      ni  i,  -' 

«igh.  i/  she  likes,  ,0  tHo.  need  not'det^heî."  '""  °"'  °' 

,1  am  niuch  mistaken  if  it  would  in  any  case      With 

Durand  dymg.  ifs  little  shell  think  of  any  one  ^     ^1 

Mo.,  and  so  a  shotin  agambling  b«„Us  ,he  end  of  h^" 

-^^esnthewan.  tose,dfor..he  other  one  a.  all-Mbs 

"1^0,"  Longworth   responds,  briefl^;    "j  asked   him 
Re.ne  runs  no.risk  in  coniing  to  see  hinf-Marie  do«     Z 
Heaven's  sake,  O'Sullivan    Iv.  «ir  «"<=  ooes.     j.or 

value."  '  "°""''™°'  "*  «n— eveiy  momen:  is  of 

The  cab  is  still  waiting.    O^ullivan  jun>ps  in.  gives  thé 
order,  and  „  rattled  off.    I„  fift„„  „i„u,es  he"  Zd,^ 
J^m  hand,  before  jhe  ..artled  .y.,  nf  Mn.  M.  CIÇ"'' 


- Waino«,  tha,  I  ».^  n^c,'^^^^—^.,^ 


->'h  -., 


V 


l'îiii  ■',\.-4--i':-*is,'m--*.<:    ''Aj  ,, 


?5f 


t  ;  will  be  there/ 
I.  '•  ■  V 

larks'in  a  iuddeo  v 
upset  him— it  up-     \ 
lad  when  to-mor- .. 
train  and  be  oflF. 
sn  he  reaches  thc 

I  Longworth  him- 
one  of  the  opea 

sly.     "Whoisit 
:  for  me  ?" 

and  dying  hère, 
îr  to  him  I  hâve 

livan,  drawing  a 

se." 

md.     He  won't 

had  best  be  off^ 

II  keep  out  of 

ly  case.  With 
ne  else.  Poor 
heendofhiml 
»e  at  ail — JVfiss 

I  asked  him. 
rie  does.  For 
noment  is  of 

»  in,  gives  the 
lie  is  standing, 

ti-Mnrpliy; ^ 

greeting,  "if 


«1  '« 


-AFTSX  LONG  GRIEP  AND  PAIN** 


441 


u^^  . '*••-"' "'«"WJwir.  uauinvaa,     An' sure 

minute  IwassayingiomamMUe "  , 

,    O.C J*^  " *'' "  °'^""'™  *^    - I»u».  «e  her  a, 

O^uIUvan  hume,  by,  and  tap,  at  Ihe  pàUor  door. 
Enter,    say.  a  .weevand  familiar  vt»ce,  and  with  hi. 
hearl  beating  beyond  it,  wont  he  obey, 

'    Js'ti'.f  1  ""/'^rr*/  ™«'"'  on  earth,  he  «.ink,.  and 
raeswithasmileofgladwelcbine.     ,  .'"'" 

ahttleda,lt  hand.  Then  ,he.  pauses,  thè  ,niile  diesiwav 
for  there  ,,  „o  an,werihg  smile  oi  hi, face.  "  W^,^17' 
»he asks,  quickly.     "Marie— J-»  "laiBuf 

"Your  sister  i,  well,  mademoÏKlle,  but  I-I  don't  brin» 

>.:^haTret':^id'int'':r  'i^-y--^ 

In  roof       j  •       ,T""  *"  accident,  and  is--is  dangerouslv  ill 
mfact,  andisaskWforyou- "       ;^  "  *    "us^y  m 

He  breaks  off  ik  distress.     She  h^s  turned  suddenly  sick 
and  fa.n,  and  susjflown.  her  face  ail  blanchtd  with  terfon 

Th.«    K    ^'"^'  Monsieur,  and  you  are  afraid  to  tell^me  1  « 
Then  she  start«  to  her  feet    "  TàtA  #«-  »«  u-     ,,  T 
nii*     «OK        L  i  ,  lafce  me  to  lum,"  she  crie» 

Qttt.     «,Oh,  my  bréther  !  œy  broiher  I  »  ' 

•  ;"^_^^"^f  at  the  dodr,"  he  answers;  "but  ^iroi^^ 


you  put  on=^ 


bonnet-==iOiiïèthîiîg- 


"OhlIhadf<»igotten.    Ye,,  ye,,.  wait  ode  moment" 
^^  hurne,  ou^  of  fte  roo.n,  «.d  U  back  direcUyt  h., 


'/ 


"f- 


>r^l^v:r^  r^P^^i^ê^t^' 


«43 


-AJ^r£Jt  LÔNÙ  GRISF  AND  PAM,^ 


«d  Mcket    She  find,  Mr.  O'SalMvw  in  the  «ore,  exptam 
mIpV      «  ««»  bc  «1.  .»dd«  abduction'.»  m" 

to  trouble  her  Without  that    But  doesn't  aU  Ihe  world  know 
«  never  rains  but  il  poun  I  •  ^  " 

Rrine    appears,  veiy  pale,  and  wilh  a  certain    intense 

TeU  me  about  it,"  she  Says„after  a  Utile  ;  "  liow  was  k  ? 
What  «ras  the  accident?"  .         ">""'»««< 

He  hésitâtes. 

■M  I  can  bear  anything  now.     He  i,  to  die,  you  sav  ?  "  h„ 
votçe  breaks  i„  a  «,b  ;  "  nothing  ban  alter  ,  J,  "'  '    '" 
,        weu,  then,  mademoiselle,  he  was^shot  I  " 

iJy  whom?    she  asks,  m  a  stifled  voice. 
^^ryt^.^l^r.Z'^  "r^  ^'^^'^-     ^'  --  ^  accident,' 

He  stops~hià  tongue  has  beti^ayed  him.     Reine  turn. 
•uddenly,  and  looks  àt  him.  /  "' 

"Longworthl"    she    repeatà;     «what    «f    m     t 
worth?"  '  -^    °^    **•.    ^on«- 

«Mademoiselle,  excuse  me!  I  dîd  hot  meaL  to  speak  of 
hm.  but  the  truth  is,  Longworth  i^în  New  Y^^^^^ 
chanced  to  be  on  the  ground  al  the  time  of  tbe-^Il  "Tf 
«;d  it  is  m  his  care  Monsieur  Durand  is  at^r^e^  't,^' 
he  s«.tfor  me-lWd  was  asking  fo,  you^,d  î^„g^ 
^;-J^w  yoar  add^ss.-  you  needa.  see  him"^^ 

He  Bi^lftei^for  tfae 


»««is  her  in,  and  upstairs  into  a  ^ÎV|Ue  parlor.  :. 


'W 


A 


jrç  >,-"-•    Yif«*î^f^"-»f'r'- 


/ 


■^ 


f^^-^l^ftip  J?'" 


**dFTER  LONG  GRtEF  AND  JPAIN.^  '         443, 


if- 


^it  down»:»  he  «lya,  «  «nd  ,.ait  one  minute. 


i'must  see 


A^n  he  breaks  ofil    An  inner  door  iiw  suddenly  opened 
ÎTtK     T!S'**  «^'^dson  t^reshold.     He  bacCTl« 

are  |]|i  Reine.    '«iJtd 


^  at  tbe  sight  of  the  two  be; 
"I  beg  your  pardon,' 
not  know " 


ùnheeding    hî$  irords  ; 
âQtisieur,  sar|y  l  am  not  too 


"Take  me  to  him,"f 
"  take  me  to  Léonce,    èh^ 
latel" 

'  J!  Ir^  '"  «"'"'"'"8-only  take^e  to  Mai.  " 
•    "Thnway,  then."  ■ 

She  follow.  him  into  m  innèr  room.     A  door  «and. 

-».î^.di:b:::d:;a:i::':;^'  t  -''  -  «-« 

ftn  tK»^.Ai^      .  *"u  me  parie  eyes  open,  and  a  smite  dawns 
on  tJ^.  cold,  white,  beautiful  face  of  the  dying  maa, 

'Ms^nonn./-^^  ^^r,"  he  whispers,    «I  knew  vou 
would  come."  y**" 

Ung«rorth  w«its  for  no  more,  He  aees  her  draw  tbe 
weak  head  within  her  ârmsi  close  to  her  heart  t^Z.  V 
sbuts  the  door  ànd  leaves  them  toget^r        *''*''-^'^"'*  ^« 

^But  Léonce,  bmther  beloved.  there  should  beaclennr. 
'^l^'S^  as  they  teU  me,  you  are  dying—"        ^ 

Curé,  he  has  been  h<a^s-4he  iUu^    ^  Longmmb  ^ul 


?' 


îî? 


•J  ■ 


'^  ^^ 


Jjt 


Il  > 


; 


444  "AFTÇR  ZPW  eStBF  AlfO  FATlf.' 

vZT  ,,    '  ""«''  ■"='  «'™  O"  m)-  death-bed  that 

C:  ™lTL'°''r     *^°^  '  ■-«  -""^  "-«ait 

aiways  there  is  atonement. 

,  '*''™'"  "S ''Mk,  and  breaks,  and  ceasM      Hi=h„..L' 

«  labored,  bu.  in  his  dark  eyes  hère  sX^  .he   Lto,? 
invincible  détermination  t«  say  »hat  i>e  hL  ,„  «* 
of  death  ilself.  "  '°  ">^>  "'  «P"e 

Léonce,  do  not  askme.     Forgive  him_„h  1  vas  oui  of 

pron^irb^tr  ro.'errnC'ltt'°'    ""i^-^* 
says  no  Petit,  whil.        T       ^  "  ^°"  P"<'=  ">"t 

atia«i^::'!:ytL:  ?°"  "'"'  ^^'^  ^"-  ^'"  ^-  »<«  "y 

'•  What  is  there  I  would  not  do  for  your  sake?    Oh  l 

"g  effoiï  """^  °"  his^e?.tilb  herself  with  a  ckok- 

Thlflff f^'^x"  ""  "''''P"'-  "^'■''"'<'  l-»  "O'  ">=  hère? 
T^nk  of  her,  Léonce.     Her  heart  will  break  when  she  he^I, 

fo/J'"^'^''''  '"  *'  '''"''■••  P*""  '    Such  horrors  are  not 
for  those  dehcate  ea„.     y^u  teU  me  ,o  think  of  her,  .^>! 

ÔÏhrt^'""S'""!*""'^  "!!i"  "*"  '"«  I  have'th^h 
ÂK,l!^"!^:,^"°''"'»"''reaking,  .„d  for  „J_ 


your  s^e,  m  this  last  Uour,  I  mil  say  ncthing.     But  she 


} 


|'?lljri&g^  '>A^  i,£&  ^     ^t 


»%iji'|!; 


4S^ 


<rw     ^^ 


"  A'TBR  LOm  GRIBP  Am  PAIN."  445 

Aonid  not  be  here-no,  a  thousand  tinies  I     I  wrcneed  her 

stake  and,  lose  a  h„„d«d  worthless  wretches  like  ,„e.  And 
5he,„very„gh._whoshould  kno»  ftat  better  .han  I? 
.  Only  we  wJl  not  talk  of  her.  my  li„le  „„e.  ,0h  !  my  li,  ,e 
one-brave  and  loving,  and  loyalj  who  would  risk  a  l  nt 
dom  and  crown,  I  beUe.ve,  .0  cau,e  .0  herwonhless  brl 

The  weafc  voice,  faltering  ând  broken  throughout,  breaks 

•  off  al.oge.her,  and  .hère  is  silence,  long  and  sad      lié  Tw 

»on,en.s  go  by  and  range  .hemselves  in.o  honrs  DuranI 

dozes  fitfully,  and  Reine-s  head   droops  monrSy^^aTst 

c..y,    he  wonders,  .s  Ihere  ano.her  wreck  s6  great,  so  u..er 
«.  pm/ul  a,  .hU?    Every  good  gif.  ,ha.  Hefven  hS  ^  eL' 
hnn-youth,  s.reng.h,  beauty,  .alen.,  life  iteelCcas.  recklS 
from  hmi— and  this  is  .he  end  I  !.t  recKlessly 

The  doclor  has  pro-mised  .0  look  in  Arough  the  nighl  and 
keeps  h,s  Word.      Reine,  cold,   and  s.ill,   and  Srnfûl 
wa.ches  hm  „i.h  dreary,  wistfnl' eyes,  b„.  in  hisTcete     ' 
reads  no-hope      He  goes  ou.  and  speaks  .0  O'SuUivan- 
wa.ching  nneasily  in  die  ou.er  room 

of  wTh^  •"^k"^J  'T  ^°'^  "•^"'^''«'  »d  *"«  «  »  chance 
of  h.s  dy.ng  ha^.     Yon  had  be..er  ge.  .ha.  poor  young  lady 

.  K     .     '!""'  '  P'«>">«-to  rf  .ire.     I.  wili  never  do 
to  le.  her  be  wiUi  him  a.  .he  las.." 

■   Mr.  O'SuUivan  goes  on  .his  second  unpieasant  errand 
and  finds  ..  barder  .0  perfom,  than  .he  first     ^e  d 4  .^      • 
eyes  look  up  at  him  iinplonngly.  ^ 

iTLc^r  ::r::.r '!!:'-i'-''  "°"'---  p-x,  pr.r  do 

«Il  b«  unfi,  for  nu«.  du^  to-morrew.    And  *.„  .he  d«.oî 


'X,».^î^\r'- 


/'-sf 


^-...,-î^'.•i■ 


4 


.  ■.!$*;  V^ 


ç.-ft     ^n  ,-'ç-'l:^^»yi?^?'w*|    -^^^^i^r 


f- 


i.  -  ,      - 

446  '^AFTER  LONG  GRIEF  AND  p. 

know,  and-ahd  au  that,  andindee*!  think  you  had  befter 

She  rises  slowly  and  reWctantly.  ' 

"  If  indeed  the  doeior  orden  if ii,.i    _ 

willcallme-promiïrmethlt     rf  ,7~      '  '"°"«'"'  ^o» 
.te  wïth  him  JIT^         *"■    "  *"*  "  * '^^"grl  »'■« 

O'SuIlivan/^mises,  15  ready  to  promisa  anythinit   and 
leads  her^ay.      She  is  shown  ,0  a  roon,  orderCd  fS  ^    ' 
and  a^he  door  closes,  Icneels  down^y  theLl^  td 
buriner  face  in  her  hands.  and  .he  sobs^he  ^ttSt 

^î^^  s"he  :rr'  ""'"  '"'""'^'  ^  "y-  -^^«^ 

_  She  awakes  cramped  and  cold,  to  (ind Ihat  jHTbi^  dav 
As  she  rjsesslowly  and  painfuUy.  her  do^ns,  ZmL 
Hanott  humes  in  and  clasps  her  in  her^s  ■«■.■""» 

"LittleQueenf  Little  Que^f»  she  exclaims,  "  I  hâve 
found  yo„  ^  last.  and  ftis  tinii  I  wiu  „^„  le.  yoâgo  !  " 

"But  I  must,"  Rejne-says,  in  sudden  terrer.  "  I  m„st  .„ 
to  Uonce.  Ohrwhy  did  I  sleep  1  Tell  me-yJ„ZÎS 
ifyouknew— ishe— better?  you  iook  as 

Xhere  is  silence,  eatnest  and  pidf„l,  a,en  a  deso'late  wail- 

tel!  the  stoiy,  and  Reme  knows  that  Durand  is  dead. 

*  'V'  ^'  0,'S°"î'*»l>o  carnes  ihe  news  to  Baymouth  to 
|bede.d„ans  widow.  Mr.  O'SuUivan  grumblesTb"^^  ^ 
findmgtansef,  w»y  nflly,  mixe<l„p  «th  this  extremeru" 
ple.s«..fa„dy  tangle,  and  al  having  th.  thankleTSk  " 

or'r  rS:  EeVl-  ^-^.d  -po»  4  .heVj 
r«m»„f,-,.  vL  nas  asked  him,  and  what  is  thele  this  un- 

remantic  httle  man,withtiie  brogu«>  anH  tu^  k,i^  -_  tT 

BOt  do  for  Reine  ?        '  ^  ^"  ^^^  '^""^  '^^"^*^ 


^ 


^  ^    i  ■•'ï .. 


I» 


-^'jf^- '-'%*»,--%: 


^'AFTER  UiNG/àiilEF  AND  PAIN.^^  447 

It  is  two  or  thWda^/before  an  opportunity  offers,îor  he 
does  not  ventuj^to  çàll  at  the  Stone  Houselest  he  should 
arouse  the  air^iy  cttriosity  ^  its  mistress.  But  one  evening 
as  he  ta^s  hi^  postprandiaKstroU  in  méditative  mood  he 
com^Xnexp^çtedly  upon  the  young  Wy  herself.  She  ap- 
prc^es  Ijifn  at  once  and  with  eagerness.  ^ 
^  "I  hâve  been  watching  for  you^'  she  says.  "I  knew 
you  /Were-  m  the  habit  of  vralking  hère.  Mr.  O'SuHivan 
yçti  hâve  but  recently  c«mè  from  New  York.     Tell  me  of 

"She  is  well,"  he  briefly  ajjswers. 

"  Why  bas  Miss  Hariott  ,,gone^  hastily  ?  She  left  a  note 
temg  me  she  had  gone  to  Reine  who  was  in  trouble,  but 
telling  me  no  more.  Monsieur,  you  are  my  sister-s  friend- 
whatisthat  trouble?"  f; 

His  eyes  shift  away  uneasily  from  hers-with  the  stick  he   ^ 
cames  he  traces  figures  confusedly  on  the  sand.     There  is  a 
pause. 

_  -  You  tell  me  Reine  is  well  {>  "  Mari.  s«.s,  growing  very 

*  "  Yes,  mademoiselle,  well  in  health,  but  à  Miss  «ariott 
told  you — m  trouble." 

Lélnl.t?'"'^^  '*^''*"'^  catches  h*er  b^^h  ;  #it  is  thea/ 

Shelaysherhandoverher  leart,  W  stands  silently  wlit- 
ing,  growing  more  and  more  pale.  And  thcn-how,  he  never 
know8--he  IS  stammering  out  the  truth,  that  Purand  bas 
been  shot  and  is  dead  and  buried.  He  ià  horribly  frightened  ' 
as  he  speaks;  she  stands  in  dead  silence  looking  at lim.  a. 
tf  slowly  turning  to  stone.  Then--as  he  ceases  speaking- 
Mie  turns,  still  without  a  wnrd,  as  if  t-         ""         " 


~iiizr— ™v ..         .7^ ^7^ — -— B"*  ""«i^aHcs-adozeir 

iteps,  and  then  without  waming  or  ciy,  falls  face  downwaitl 
on  tne  sand.  J 


::..jt 


■■■41 


:v;;.-ï;fc.;. 


'"«^«««Ir 


448 


»AFTER  LONG  GRIEF  AND  P4m.^ 


I 


It  is  no  more  Ihan  Mr.  OSuIUvan  ,h«  expected.    He  lift. 

gooo  to  me.    I  thank  you  with  ail  xay  heart." 
thereT!."^  ""?  •'"'""  ""'>'-    °'«'"«™"  f<"'°'«'  h",  but 

*a:';ro7;:r4'txtrHorrr'r  "  ^'' 
"cr^"'^°^''"°™  o-Ption  a„a  her^'si::;;: 

wliole  life.  My  husband,  made  reckless  by  me  stole  vo,,, 
money.  and  ,ha.  *eft  and  hi,  .ragical  death  L^  ^^^Z 
«  «,  ld°  *?•  "-'«"«"-dyon,  bntthemah  s'spZ 

upon|rb?rArCn"frnte1;;^rdrbt' 
dr^  ,hrç„gfc  4e  mire  ,„fficien,ly,  fta,  .his  fresh  d^^da 

worid  knowr  why  ? 


3 


girfgo,toCT,antfim  tBF 


1  *    <rl        j 


//."^ 


AT/M» 

pected.  He  lifia 
es  cold  sea-water 
to  grow  anxious, 
licfs  back  the  wet 

"Ohl  I  know," 
nce^dead— my 

ts  motionless  for 
cornes  into  her 
tear.   She  hol^^  . 
I  and  distresséd. 
'd  to  niy  sister, 

foUows  her,  but 
his  time  as  she 
traight  into  the 
sfore  her  Marie 
nd  her  sister's 

md  spoiled  her  . 
me,  stole  your 
!  aU  niy  doing. 
nrth  is  spoken 
d  guilt  to  tfee 
'  be  receiving 

is  like  the  bit- 
on,  dishonor, 
frace  brought 
IVindsor  been 
resh  degrada- 
i  her;  she  is 


•  '■'■-  •  :';    :  ^  ."■■'■   ■ 

**AFTER  LONG  GRIEF  AND  PAIN.**  449     \ 

"  JIT^'  TS^^  ^"^''"^  *  ^^^^^  ^^^^^  "^d  corne 
agaiA  to-night.     Who  knows  of  this  last,  worst  shame  ?  " 
"Mr.  O'SuUivaa."  • 

•       '' Ah  !    Aftd  Mr.  Longworth  is,  I  presmue.  with  your  sis.  ' 
ter  in  New  York  ?»  ,  '. 

"Heis."X  .  ■'  '  ^ 

fuiy.     IJesightof.thegirl  ishatefultoher.    In  hèï-heart 
she  could  curse  them  ail. 

•  For  hour3  aftef ,  she  sits  stonily  dumb,  staring  in  »  blind. 

blank  fashion  intp  the  dying  fire.     And  this  then  is  the  end 

of  ail  !    In  her  life  she  has  had  many  good  things-beauty 

and  grâce,  a  wealthy  husband,  an  old  name.  a  stately  house. 

a  fair  daughter,  a.noble  son.     Death  and  time  hâve  robbed 

her  of  ail  save -the  wealth,  and  to  whom  is  that  to  go?     / 

Longworth  refuses  and  répudiâtes  it  ;  by  this  time  the  grand- 

daughter  she  hâtes  may  be  his  wife.    And  now  there  is  this 

last  dishonor-is  it,  too,  to  be  given  to  the  dérision  of  the 

world  X    No,  Marie  shall  stay.'     It  is  the  only  réparation  she 

can  make.     In  spite  of  ail  hèr  déception,  her  grandmot 

teels  for  her  none  of.that  intepse  abhorrence  she  has  for 

other.     It  is  settled— ^arî^ïiàll  stay. 

In  New  Vork  Reine,  in  the  tendèr  care  of  Miss  Harioti. 
droops  and  fells  uhder  this  last  blo#.     He  has  been  so  inex-       '    / 
pressibly  dear  to  her,  this  errin^  bril»t  brother  ;  his  death  / 

has  been  so  awfully  sudden  anZ  tragic  that  it  crusfeer    1Ç  / 
Sleep  déserts  her,  or  if  it  cornes  fitfuUy,  is  brofeen  by  hlSlted,        / 
terrible  dreams.     She  grows  apathetic  to  ail  things  ;  nothW       / 
woves  or  interests  her.     Longworth,  inexpressibly  troubled!.  ^  /  '" 
cornes  and  goes,  but  slje  takes  no  heed  of  4iim.      No  effort    / 
ofMiss  Hariotfs  can  arôuse  her.     A^  the  weeks  go  by,  her   /• 
health  fails,  ^d  she  grows  pallid  and  thin  as  a  shadow. 


$- 


'■'•I 


Thpmiighly,alamied,.^li^4^»^gw^^ 


a  consultation  at  h»st,  an^  when  the  lady  returns  from  it  t<^ 
her  charge,  she  makes  an  ^brupt  proposi^  '  ^ 


„x- 


^ 


-^^fjf^r-   ^ 


.   ï-if^^if- 


i 


450  '-AFTEk  Zams  GRIEF  AtTD  PAIN» 

«  Liltle  Queeo|fippo4we  go  on  a  |t)urn&?  » 

The  dark,  Ia,|guid  eyes|ft  weari^  -^H  lo%  henê, 

aF.i)ettte  for  «torç,"  continuel âiss.H^^  briskly^  "  J^line 

^  go  again.  .  Suppo^et^  ^rt-,we.i;v|-&^t^^^£^ 

««lien.  jnd;rôù>p  show  ife  »|piU^; 

tho&ght  tbat  would  briii  â^laclkto'' 

i,;with  clasped  hands,  anii  eye$< 

many  weary  weekà.     *V.. 

"  says  Miss  Hariott^iA  deci- 

i^;th<i  se^fl,  and  we  will  ride  in  a  '  brooshSd  four  ' 

a*  W«^  #  iV'^  Hxde  Park,  and  see  the  ql>n  and 

rc^'aapttily,  n<^  to^eak  of  the  nobility  and  landedLntry 

;  havè  ^nvictipn.  iPetite,  that  if  I  had  been  born  alfing- 

.^  .  l»8h. «romi|i  I  would  hayé,  been  a  hoirid  snob,  and  adored  the 

^.^tocracy.     Then  we  wiil  cros*  to  France  and  sp&d  a 

itr.:/."Vf  ^-^  ^"  "  "^'^"^'^  Pictur^^que  Norn^an. 
^ty  and  ny  darhng.wUl  get  back  her  oldf  brightness,  and  be 

Whigh-sp^ted.  radiant 'LMe.Q^een' ofo'^^^^ 

i^^^'^â^  »;airect  inspiration-Reine  rouses 
,  <rom^  that  houn     Next  week  xomes»  ând  they  go.     Long- 
.     worth  sees  them  off,  and  though  she  does  not  heed  it  then 
^„Reine  remembers  afterward  how  pâte  and  wistful  his  face  is! 
#  Jie  holds  out  his  hand  and  quietly  says  good-by      '  •  ' 
^  .They  hâve  a  deiightful  passage,  and  before  it  is  iïver  Reine 
^    suffers  a  sea  change,"  and  is  quite  hcr  pld  self  again.    They 
'See  London^t  its  best  and  gayèst.  as  Miss  Hariott  ' 
dicted,  remain  a  fortnight,  and  thçn  cross  the 
Through  the  whole  njgith  of  June  thcy  Unger, 
Rouen.     Other  fac^^at  in  the^«  old  home  c^ii 
as  Reine;  silent  and^He  saA  wanders  througl 


-ac-apncot  Htwnmg  %Bnst"tlfe  gâj^ëiTwiilï 
*^**^*  ^°"^'  ^!*'  ^'^  »t«  place  a  prbfound 


É: 


:.-^.     ■/..: 


»" 


■>-#-^ 


ft- 


V 


cornes,  thatpuz.IesJiercompanion.  She  contracta  a  habit 
of  sitnn^  andgazing  earnestly  at  her  fnend-~that  exéîles  tt 
cunosity  of  that  excellent  lady.  tim  exqies  the 

to^^"^  r?^'  '"""  ^'''  ^^  '""'^  ''^y  ^"  ^^t  old 
MISS  «anott  at  the  mndow  gazes  ont  at  the  slanting  Unes 

W^lrt""J-'"^°"^'  ^"'  ^"  ^  ^'^"^  ^»-o?n  st 
does  n„r    r''u  '"  '  '''^  '^"^  "^^'  ^°^^^  ^  book,  but  she 

look  Z  h  7'\"  ''''''^'«  **^^  ^'^^^  ^^^^  -"h  tha-Untent 
lookjhat  has  often  been  âxed  „pon  her  of  late.      . 

VVell,  my  dear,  what  is  it?"says  Miss  Hariott,  coôUy. 

S  lent  cunosity  has  its  limits.     It  seems  to  me  you  hav^ 

qu^eanewway  of  staring  at  me  lately.  ^  j/^^^,,  ^J^t 

^J^Miss    Hariott."   re.urned    Reine^eaJstly.  «are  yoa 

"  H'm  I     Thaï,  niy  child,  is  what  légal  /entlemen  term  a 
leading  question.,    Why  do  you  ask  ?  "       ° 

"Because  I  want  to  know." 
■    -  An  excellent  reason.     Well,  you  see,"  says  Miss  Hariott. 
foldmg  her  hands  ,n,^j  arginnentative  manner  over  her  belt 

Street  gamms-I  see  every  day  in  ,the  kreet,  I  atn  rich  In 
regard  to  the  Rothschilds,  or  Miss  Burdett  Coutts,  oryour 
grandmother  Windsor,  1  ain  poor."    /  *     ^ 

onle^  t^?'^'  '  a#'  y^"^  '^''^^  "♦    ^on  told  me 
that  last^^s  îqur  exhaa^çe.l.f^ur  finances.     How  ihen 
a^^^  '"°  -plenishel>     H..,  in  shqrt,  hâve  you  béer; 
able  ^e  ag.^n,%m  fetch  «e.  ana|ve  lu^umuLJ^. 
havehved?    How?"  .    ..      \^        V^  ^^-^^^ 

C'!;^;^^"^;^"^gf™  -  »»-  ean^stness.^sheaskith4 


— -■■—--■^■'«»  **"Uiatio  ,a^jMny,  ■j*tr'* 

*'  3ooiîcr  or  later  I  knew  itWould  coins|o  thjs. 
1    My  dear,  -fm  you  not  gAes»?  "     ^  , 


./•* 


ItôldlK 


*-.ftv> 


f^ 


-'^,. 


fi 


ii*! 


r  ■ . 

1 


'^'" 


*j  itîi«>  lâ 


«'     ^<1        }     ^'  '      '«îP'*?!^ 


453 


•« 


*AF^R  LONG  GRIEF  4ND  PAm» 

\  Reine  falls  suddenly  back.-  The  diWlight  hides  hcr  face, 
and  she  does  not  speak  a  word.  Miss  Wariott  bends  toward 
her,  and  puts  her  arm  caressingly  over  hè^;  shoulders. 

"  Little-Queen,  do  not  be  angry-it  was  our  only  hope. 
Could  we  %de  you  droop  and  die  before  our  eyes  ?  To  bring 
our  httle  Norman  girl  to  her  old  ]f  ome  was  her  one  chance, 
and-he  made  me  do  it.  He  loyds  you  so  dearly,  Petite,  so 
dearly **  ^'  » 

But  Reine  puts  up  her  handswith  a  little  impassioned  ges- 

^  "Oh!  do  not I"  shè.says;  "itisthento  Mr.  Longworth 
I  pwe  it  ail  !"  '  -         '^  ^ 

"AU.  To  send  you  away  was  the  greatest  sacrifice  hé  could 
,  make  and  he  made  it.  '  He  is  not,  a  patient  man  as  a  rule, 

but,  Little  Queen,  he  has  been  vefy  patient  hère " 

^  She  breaks  oflf,  for  again  the  girl  makes  a  gesture  to  stay 
her.  It  is  evidently  a  subject  tù  be  discussed  by  no  third 
person,  however  privileged.  There  is  a  pause,  and  the  elder 
.lady  peers  ont  of  the  window  against  whkh^he  rain  is  dashing 
ïn  wild  drifts.  ,  su.  * 

^  '«  A  real  summer  tenipest,"  she  says,  in  a  changed  tone. 
•  "  We  will  hâve  a  disagrceable  day  to-morrow  to  start  for 
Italy."  ^  .  .       . 

"^We  are  not  going  to  Italy,"*says  a  voice  0-om  the  depth 
of  the  Chair  ;  "  we  are  going  back  to  England." 
^"Mydear» "  ' 

"And  l^y  the  first  ship  frora  I.iverpool  we  are  to  returi  to 
New  York.     Let  us  say  no  more  about  it." 

" But,  Reine,  one  word—you  are  not  angry ?"  \ 

«lamnotangry.    I  am  tired  though,  and  if  yoii  wUl  excuse 
me,  will  say  good-night"  -  ,  ', 

She  kisses  her  frienda:ndw)es,  and  Miss  Hariott  is  left  sit-  * 
ting  by  ihe  window,  perplexe!  and  atixious,  and  profoundly 
Jgm)mut^h«th«  «he  has^îseriiyTO  tTé  dèàtfi^HoiTtôXair^ 


ence  Longworth's  lâst  hopc 


i&SLf-u 


ïJ\*.  r*^ 


r. 


re  to  returrt  to 


**AFTER  LONG  GRIEF 


ANJ>  PAIN."* 


À 


V 


no^tr    r  ^"^'^''^'     ThreedaystheyspendinLiver. 
pool,  then  they  are  homeward  bound  oh  the  wide  Atlantic 

once  more.  Not  one  word  is  spoken  on  the  subject  broached 
'  on  that  night  in  Rouen,  and  ReineJs  face  and  mânner  tell 
nothing.  She  »s  simply  quiet  and  thoughtful,  but  sweet  and 
bnght,  and  perfectly  restored  to  health  ;  and  Miss  Hariott. 
looking  at  her,  feels  that  no  matter  how  Longworth's  love 
affair  may  go,  she  at  least  has^ot  labored  in  vain 

They  land  in  New  York,  ànd  both  take  it  as  a  .natter  of 
course  that  A#.  Longworth  should  be  the  one  to  meet  them. 
They  dnve  to  a  hôtel  together,  and  after  the  first  teq  minutes 
of  prehmmary  greeting  Miss  Hariott  starts  up,  déclares  she 
s  penshmg  for  a  private  cup  of  tea  in  her  room,  and  is  gone 
m  a  flash.  ^ 

"Now  or  n^ver,"  she  thînks,  as  she  maréhis  down  a  long 
corridor;  "if  they  cannot  corne  to  an  understanding  w»;  I 
wash  my  hands  of  them  forever  !" 

Mr.  Longworth  at  least  is  making  the  attempt.  He  has 
borne  M.ss  Hariott's  brief  présence  with  impatience,  and  the 
instant  she  goes  is  standing  by  Reine  holding  both  her  hands, 
and  gazmg  down  at  her,  ail  his  heart  in  his  eyes. 

"  Reine/'  [je  says,  "  am  I  forgiven  ?  " 

"Out  of  rîiy  heart,  monsieur.     Ah!  how  good  you  hâve 

been     I  know  ail.  and  thank  you.     Ah!  how  I  thank  you. 

A   ^^°"f  ^-^  W<^m^^à  him.     I  hâve  been  very  passionate 

•    T  'T'"^'^!^''"'  '°"'^  ^  ^^^"^^"^^^^  ^"^^i-^g  against  the 
friend  who  Hîd  been  so  good  to  my  brother  1  " 

«.And  this  irall!»  Longworth  says,  and  drops  her  hands, 

and  walks  away^to  the  window,  stung  to  the  heart 

JThere  is  a  P^|r-a  moment  of  wistful  indécision.     Then 

tl  ^^'T  v#''^^'  ^"  ^^"^  '°  ^^'  "P^  ^^  l^i^^s  it  as  »    ^ 
^^okenofwifçlj^love  and  submission.  - 

^^--^nd  Laai^uce^becaasê  îlovë^^^  so  weU  I  can  nem 
Jet  you  go." 


\ 


t^'^i^ij 


bi'ïâv^*.'.  ;. , 


4S4 


,V;, 


^CONCLUSIOlf, 


\. 


% 


CHAPTlf^aOy.  . 

A    FOREGONE    CONCLUSION. 


5*. 


fï^u  L°"f  ^°rth  and  Reine  are  married  !  "  exclaim. 

they  would^be/  And  riow;  tell  us  what  the  bri.fe 
J^r.    and  hcshe  loôked,  and  who  were  .the  t  LaW  ' 
,  and  how  ^y  looked,  and  who  «stood  up'withT  bride 
groon,  ancf  where  thej^  went,  and|rall  about  it."       " 

There  is'  not  niuch  to  tell.     It  was  the  simplest  of  A 

lOVejy     And  %  only  bndemaid  was^  Xliss  Hariott  and  she 
Wed   statelyaad   handsome,  and  very  happy.    1  "o  ^ 
brKl^roojn-but.hoeveri.^terested  in  t^brid^^^ 
Mr  OSulhvan  was  not  b^ n;V-who  wa&es  notl^atteiv  - 
Why  he  was  not  ||mfie^thing.  either.     Tàere  was  the  ^^ 

L  .   *  flP*  '>"»''fasfa,an(J-ther((i(Hièywent  to 

«C  a  cty  «he'^here  are  ,1%  .ephX^na  W.^  . 
.(fer  it  was  wamvweather  iBNei»VÀ,rt.r\i       Tv     T 
%"-  *e  then«o»e.«„ever^;^|^fc 

nfînc  I^  1k    Z^''*?"^"^  ^^^ï^d  Jfontl^nci,  and  thé 
I^;.)?^  Abraham,  and  Wolf^yf  and  wè^e  Kkppy  I 


rf-^-^S 


•««a 


^fs  Hanott  wem  home,  a^^said  nothing  about  it,  and 
1  ^       ^  '  *^*'  ''^  *"  Baymouth  only  two  people  knew  it 

.fto«es,  oi  yeuhumbsïfewrcdOTnothavetôrnit.  "' 

And  .u  feU  out,  some.  six  weeks  later,  that  Miss  Hariot* 


> 


*-i 


;fY.^S^.■'  w; 


A  fOS£a(f//B  CONCLUSION.  '«5 

S'^™*  rS.'     *"!  *  '"ft*<*-<!9mpanyof  the  cream  of  the 
cream   of  Baymouth  were  bidde„  and  came,  for  thU  ladv 

z:  ArdTh?™  """'""''■  *"  ^  .^'^  ■"■«"  »'  hoï: 

i!!!h  m  -  ,         ™°'"''  ""■=  "*"  «"H  Md  Miss  Marie 

,       «»«".andwh.teasal.ly,andcolda»Anderson'sdelu5ive 

tached,  iiMich  improved  and  quiéted  by.  foreign  traveJ-look 
\  jng  .a  1  and  haridso.ue.  a„d  ralhe,  ^p^rb.  wf,  S«t 
?^d^^<«'ï.«-'^no.i«dfromMissLândeUed,e*ho;c%^ 
H<i  had  o„^o„„  that  old  folly,  Baymouth  iaid  ;  th."  dis. 

J.Kd    "^'°,ï"-     "°-^'"S"'"'y">«sis.erhadvan-    ' 
'h         more  a«„  „„e  Baymou,hian-for  ail  ,he  worid 

.^sT>  °''™'"'  *"''  '"allo.red.her.     SUll,  Mr. 

Chose  ^l'T   M^  T   ""'   '°'''  '»'"»•  "O   -Jo-l-t,  if  he 
r   '^        "  **■■•  Longworth^nd  hère  Mies  turned 
w..h  a^^e,  to  their  hos.ess_where  ^as  Mr.  JnS 

_   Miss  riariott,  in  iweeping  silks  that  became  her  well,  '         ' 
let  flowers  m  her  profuse  dark  hair,  s,niled  as  she  Hste 
qu.«,cal  and  ralher  pu^ling  sraile.     Oh,  yes,  Mr.  LonJwHW 
^  commg  back-she  expected  him  hère  to-night,  i^act 

ada^by-ïMn.     It  was  partly  to  welcome  hiui,  and   that  he 
m«ht  be  *«.edbyn«nyfan,iKar  faces,  she  U  invitd  ht 
inends  on  this  occasion.  --       .^  ^^tr---T-  - 

A  slight  sensation  went  throi^h  tlle  room^  at  this  unex 
P^ed  announcement,  and  a  faint,  amused  smile  passed  over 


-face  of  lMàri<U^Bd«lle^teiri>he  iistened. 


Among  the  changes  thèse  months  had  wrought,  one  of  the 
«ost  notable  wa.  that  ^hich  had  n^adc  this  y<>^  ZylX 


'X 


\ 


*i- 


?* 


m,. 


■Fît*», 


r   ■ 


ri  ; 


l 


45^ 


^/#  FORÈGONÊ  COyCLUSION. 


•■■/, 
■/ 


«aie  of  Miss  Hariotf  s  home,  and  a  pensioner  of  Miss  Har- 
lott  s  bounty.  For,  one  July  night.  SQmc  three  weeks  before, 
that  great  and  gracious  lady,  Mrs.  ^Windsor,  had  closed  her 
eyes  upon  ail  things  earthly,  and  had  gone  fortb  from  the 
ôtone  House  m  gloonjy  and  gorgeous  state,  to  return  no 
nnore.  • 

Twro  days  later  and  the  reading  of  the  will  electrified  ail 
Baytnouth.  The  Stone  House,  liberally  endowed,  was  left 
to  the  town,  to  be  used  as  a  Home  for  Aged  Women  ;  there 
was  a  legacy  to  each  of  her  servants,  and  the  reniainder,  an 
enormpus  fortune,  to  a  distant  cousin,  a  merchant  of  Boston. 
Neuher  of  her  granddaughters  was  so  niuch  as  named  in  it, 
nor  her  fnend,  JVfr.  Longworth,  and  it  bore  date  but  a  fort- 
night  before  her  death.' 

It  was  awill  tharperhaps  might  hâve  been  contested  by 
the  lawful  heiresses,  but  one  of  thèse  young  persons  had  dis- 
appeared  from  mortal  ken,  and  the  other  felt  littlê  disposition 
to  dispute  it.     SKe  had  battled  in  vain,  her  efforts  to  secure 
this  fortune  had  brought  nothing  but  miseiy  upon  them  all-^ 
it  was  rétribution,  and  she  bowed  her  head  and  accepta  her 
fete.     Miss  Hariott  offered  her  a  home,  and  to  Miss  Haripti 
she  wcnt.    Other  homes  might  haveWn  hers,  were  profffered 
mdeed-^but  that  was  impossible.    It  Was  about  this  time  Mr 
Frank  Dexter  returned  from  foreign  parts,  his  tour  of  raany 
years  resolving  itself  into  precisely  fiyekonths.    That  hear- 
mgof  Durand's  death  from  Longworth's  làtters,  he  should  go 
straight  to  Baymouth,  that  being  in  BayraWth  he  shoUld,  of 
course,, visit  Miss  Hariott,  goes  without  4ying.      He  met 
Mane  séldom,  alone  never,  but  stiU  they  did^neet,  and  if  the 
young  lady  «is  sUent,  and  shrinking,  and  a  little  cold,  ail  that 
was  natural,  and— Durand  was  dead,  and  he  cduld  wait. 

Mrs.'Laura    Sheldon,    large,    milk-white,  âonde-haired, 
jweetly  smiling^ame  late-after  Miss  HariotA  ânnounr^ 
-ment— attd  so  drd  not  hear  it.    Next  to  Mlle.  L£delle,  she 
was  the  preltiçst  wonian  there.    She  couU  wear  Ween,  and 


/À'^y    *% 


'■■f.»:''' 


■:V  îf- 


•:;V 


'•'^S 


4-  ^fm&mrB  ûiiHfe$.mmt, 


m 


yron  ft— paJfsgreen  sflk,  wi«h  qtiantitWof  tuUc»  pink  roseï, 

wid  green  grasses  in  hair  anci  corâage.    ^e  vas  late,  but  not  ' 

thelatestj  halfan  hour  àfter;  there  was  a  momentaïy  «tir  and 

thriU  that  ran  l*e  electricity  frot»  room  to  room,  and  turning 

round  to  discover  the  cause,  she  found  herself  face  to  face 

with  Laurence  Longwortk.    For  six  ràonth^  she  had  not  $een 

him.    With  a  little  exclamation,  so  glad  that  it  was  not  to  be 

repressed,  she  tumed  to  hiiù,  faer  eyes  kindling,  ber  cbmtks 

glowing,  and  held  ont  her  hand, 

«  Oh,  Laurence  1  what  a  surprise  this  i»  f    How  glad^I  am 

.   to'seeyouggaini    I  began  to  think  you  had  deserted  us  for- 

"  Vtom yott  hare  rainded  much  ?"  he  said,  laughing.  «  So 

Miss  Hariott  has  not  told  you  eithèr." 
"Toldine^iat?'^  '  ' 

He  laughed  again.    How  well  he  was  lookinj,,  Mrs.  Sheldon 

thought-;^w  handsome,  how  happy  | 

-■■•-'■.•.    '  -     '  V  .   ■  '1 

.     «Itt^wnot^usînotherdïijnwemetj     ' 
Hith  tiané  ànd  abseûcc  Uugbt  tbe«  to  forget.» 

^-.-^  ■<■■;.    '---•::..-  ■       '       -  "    .>    ': 

"Reine  LâiideUe,"sj||emight  hâve  quoted. 

Once  again,  sbè  thôught,  ^  she  had-so^gfi^thought  be- 
fore,  how  hâd  it  eyer  bôen  possible  for  her  to  refuse  this  man  ^ 
4nd  in  additioi^  tp  all;  he  #as  no^  a  millionaire,  though  to 
do  this  charmingyoung  wid^w  justice,  $he  would  bave  gone 
with  hun  to  begg^iry. 

,  **JVÏis8  Harfôtf s  taâte  fei^^  fheatricala  wiU  never  be 
<wt^o#m  I  fendied  €v«éi;^o|(!rkneir  ail  abont  i^  and  my 
affairs.  I  find  I  come  among  yô^,  and  startle  yoti  «s  mu«h 
as  if  I  were  the  marble  guest  Àh  I  hère  is  our  &ir  hostess 
''ow'-f^  modem  marvel-*  woipan  f  h)  «an  keep»a  «e- 


Sheldon— fou  are  old  acquaintanceg».  I  ki|QWr-4)||t  m  hev- 


n 


'.y 


-'  n 


\ 


3ng 


•458  A  FO^EGONB  CONCLUSION. 

new  character,  let  me  présent  you  to  Mçs.  Laurence 
worth."   " 

-■^  It.is  the  ^^«/ V<f ///14/rif— whether  prepared  with  malice 
prepense,  who  shall  say  ?  And  tuming  round  Laura  SheWon 
sees  a  vision  I  A  bride-like  figure  in  trained  white  silk,  arid. 
délicate  laces,  and  two  dark  Upraised  eyes  she  has  never 
thought  to  see  again.  It  is  Reine  Landelle.  Nay,  Reine 
A.pngworth  surely,  forLongworth  stands  besidffhef,  and  looks 
at  her  as«men.  only  look  upon  what  is  the  appb  of  theit 
eye,  and  the  delight  of  their  life.    It  is  Laurence  Longworth's 

Wlfe    I  .  ; 

Somethingofwhrat  shefeelsperhaps  is  in  her  face,  and  those 
sweet  dark  eyes  read  it.    Ail  small  animosities  fallto  t&e* 
ground,  and  Reine  holds  out  her  hand. 

"I  shall  be  very  glad  if  my  husband's>»«©usin  will  eo'tfi»t 
me  among   her  friends,"  she  says,  simply.     And  then  she 
drops  Miss  Harioti's  arra,  and  takes  her  husbànd's,  i.nà.turni 
^away.  ,       , 

H  One  last  glimpse. 
^  An  interior.     Gas  jçts,  softiy  shaded,  pouring  thoîr  sub- 
dued  hght  ov.et  Miss  Hàriotfs  parlor.     Mr.  I^ongworth  lying 
uxunously  back  in  his  traditibnal  ^air,  Mis?  Hariott'  nea^ 
him.   JVtiâs  Hariott  talks,  Mr.  Longworth  listelfe:    Mrs.  Long 
worth  sits^  the  piano,  and  play^n  exquisite  song,  without 
wordsi  fait#  and  àweet  as  the  silvery  ripple  of  a  summer  brook 
Herhusband's  eyes  are  upon  her,  while  his  ears  »re>tfe 
disposai  of  His  hostess. 
..       "So  the  heir  came  yesterday,"  continués   Miss'.  Hariott 
«and  sold  the  Windsor  Mills.     He  got  a  fabuloUs  prite  foi 
them.     Arjd^that  is  the  en4  of  the  Windsors>     -  . 

"  Take  >^f  for  ail  in  ail,"  quotes  Longworth,  «  we  slïall 
net  look  upon  her  like  àgairi;*'  ; 

«And  once  you  were  the  heir,Larry^    Only  thîîc  of  the 
_i»g?^  courage  jrQttiud—toresigha^^^i^  '- 

millions  1"  .     ^'' 


A\ 


i« 


■.-,i-4'---' 


l'- 


::Al 


^ 


»  ■ 


/ 


çs.  Laurenc^Long 


A  FORE  CONE  CONCLUSIOK  . 


"459 

,  ^     ,   ,      '^""l  "'J'  ''"''°&  »"d  I  think  you  wre  worth  ît 
be  but  I  should  say  her  pride  was  above  ruhies  "  ^ 

the  rescue         ^       ''^"^-      *'**"=  Long^rth  cornes  to 
;^  J'f  "^/"  """ '^'''"''"'"  "'^  »^^  caressingly;  "I  hâve 


"U 


irorth/«we  slTaU. 


•  r'^'*  "  balf  S6  fair  as  that  upraised  face.     The.  are  silent 
I.stenlngtothe;i,usicfr<,mmthin.  ">=)>are  sUent,^ 

■  "'""ffknewyow  sister  wasbeautiful^tillastnwhf»' 
^^ys  Frank  DexU^r,'"  though  I  ad„,ired  LrSay       Spi 

it  1:.  the  veiy  best  thing  in  ail  the  wùrld  '     v^..  u 

'that  day^Marie?"  '  .  T^'    ^""^  remember, , 

^  "  ï  rçnweiiyjer,"  she  ansvfers>-8oftly      ' 

"SSÏ  vfi -  b^*^»*  done,  but  they  ^e'/riends,  thfse  two'-  and"  « 
though  ihere  is  muc^i  («^be  mournea  for  ii.  À%  Z..  '? '.  "^. 


/v 


.^«g^i^«.^'^,^grgnjr 


<$> 


«.ybeyetaaroff.  Us.enù,g.o,heso«gth.;co„e,.2^„>' 


'<•  ». 


r*  Uëxfefr,  stapding  Ï^mU), 
t  d 
so 


»>,|f 


« 


■î    V, 


-^yà'' 


,♦",      ■ 


;S* 


/ 


'■^ 


ASo 


A  FOREGONE  CONCLUSION. 


the  open  window,  he  knows  fhaf  oti  it    l  ,, 


And  I  know  that  at  last  xny  message 
Has  passed  through  the  Golden  Gâte. 

Somyheartis  no  longer  restless, 
And  I  am  content  to  wait." 


«ngsi 


tVM  K%o^ 


t     .t 


:'--¥■  ' 


TOIT, 


holds  for  him  in 
lariott  sings  : 


Gate^ 


#; 


■K 


1878. 


187e 


NEW    BOQKSi 

AND  NEW  EDiTIONSi,   """ 

RKCENTLY  ISSUBD  BY 

<3f.  W-CAiaETON&Co.,PubMers, 

"  Madispn  Square,  New  York. 

AU  books  m  this  list  [uniess  otherwisn^r^^TTr      u     .  ^""f^'Jre* 

bmdi„g.tr^Mka^b7e  &,tS'°"'*'î  '''  '='°''>  "--«l 

Tempest  and  Sun.hin?*'''  ''«ffi'R?''J   Work,*,. 

English  Orphans •'  ^o    Darkness  and  Ô.yligMt...  .         1 

"—  -  '  '"    Hugh  Worthington    7^ :••«'  So. 

Caineron  Pride. .    ^ ' '  s°  ' 

Roae  Mather..       '* '  5o 


Homestead  on  the  HiUside  .  î  co 

'Lena  Rivera.  ..  ••-••••   i  so 

Meadow  Brook  '  *° 

DoraDeane...  '  ^o 

Cousin  Maude    '         '5° 

Marian  Grey.  -•••  *  ^ 

Edith  Lyie. .. . ..::(NeV):;::;:: :: j  ^  _.._. 

Alone...  Marion  Harlknd's 

HiddenPath *'  5° 

MpsaSide "••    '  So 

Netnesia..... '  5o 


Millbank. \    " »  5° 

Edna  Brownind.'  " '  So 

West  Lawn.V."..  "V.' '  5o 


Mildred. 


•(Nçw*. 


M*"»»; ,. 

AtLaat 7.. 

Helen  Gardner., 
Trueas^eel... 

Oharlea  IM^kaas-lfi 


-  -  -  Works.  ' 

Sunnybank P  ,  .     ' 

Huabands  and  Home*; "^ ♦'  S*» 

Ruby»Husband...      '  5P 

Pheirfie'aTemptation/;'" '  ^o 

The  Empty  Heart.  : .. ...  "  '' '5° 

.     JesMiAine 4 »  so 

Pickwick.. nd--C*t-?iu:"'"^a7"î-A-^^^^  Eitî^k."-"" 

Dombey  ând  Son         *     ♦'  5**    S?vi<*  CooperfieW  '  «    . 

Bleakftouae.       ^•' •   .»*>    NichoJaaîfîckîeby '■■'■«■••  "  *'  ^ 

Martin  Chta«lewit * i*»!  J^ittle  Dorflti,.     rV* .'•••     \^ 

Barnabif  Rud»e-Edv*in  h;«n.i'       *°    P"*";**"*"*»' Friend  "■■     *  ** 

chri*^*""«l»««'-Mi«ëifi^tStt.-  ,'d8ke1Sl*yK®''&r^itcëiia;.vôû;:  ' 

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Lovfe  (L'Amout>-*Translation. 

Ruttei 

Frank  Warrington, 

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One  Nighf .  Afyatery .  !  !  !  !  !  !  ! . .'  •  î  " 
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RicI 


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H18  Yonag  Wi«B-{New) ^5 

Victor 


Novel*. 

Thé  vi^âSw^:.  * 

ThfrMarriedBelte *    ''^ 

Courtine  «nd  FaMnlng. '.'.'.'"""  J  J| 


Le»  Misérables— In  Enjtlwh. 

The  Scalp  Huîiters.. ., . . .  .*^'*^i  . 

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The  War  Trai 


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Papsr  Giifv«L 

Tom's  Wife-By  G.  D.  Tallman 

Î£îî  ?'"S*?  £'^™""-By  Frank  BcDew. 
TnatAwfuI  Boy 

ThatBrldffet  of  Ours 'J*" 

Why  Wlfe  and  I^uàrreled. 

<*■-■ ^  , 


S0  Ceata-Oloth,    iLOO. 


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quotations  wtdi  Aeir  authomhip.^. . . . .  f ,  j^ 


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True  Love  Rewaru» 


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THREE    VALUABLE    BÔùkT 


oliaptera  npon— 

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IHE   LaDIKS'   Toimt.— DM!»» 


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1  ^  ^' 


..^vi  ->; 


BOÔKS 

»n,  j( 

bo  dmirea  to  be  elther  • 
BodiooJety.  Breoioniis 
«nd  foUow  thoM  hinto  là 

JUMKlfT.— BACBDIOU.- 
3INKEB  OONTXBaATIOK. 

ra  Ona».— MoBMTïT.— 
■•— ?«ur-lN«T»0onoK, 

Knô  WI.KD01. — lUK 
<  HiNTs  TO  Au». 


lety. 

and  anecdotes  «moern- 

the  art  of  making  one- 

ion»  of  social  predica- 

xinteatB  wiU  b^fonnd 

3df»bb. — Baus. 

HES.— BiCWlOg. 

rïEs.-jJlANcmL 

■EMOAOEICZNn, 

-DUKaBEB. 

-PREtlENTg. 

IQUETTK. 

C8.— ClTT  Vi»m, 

Speaking^ 

threë  mort  deiriraWe, 
able;  aad  foradulta.' 
ispenaewlth.    Prioe| 

rHow  TO  Bunr.— 
-  Wniiraa  A  SpftBCF. 
BMC  8pkakin<^-D» 
UTOBTw  rai  Pot- 

nxoH. 

leganUy  priatea  «a 


\ 


/" 


-^ 


Mary  J.  Holmes'  Works. 


■  k 


^^";*>-..i 


*  -^miPKS-r  AND  .it'NSHINE. 
fc»  «nClish  ORPHANS. 
f-HOMKSTEAD  ON  HILLSIDE. 

*  '-'LENA  RIVERS. 

%  -OfBADOW  BROOK. 
1  «DORA  DEANE» 
»   <X)US1N  MAUDE. 
««.—WEST  LAWN 


^. 


•^ 


•  8.— MARIAiSr  GRAY. 
9.— DARKNESS  and  OAY1.IG1IT. 
10.— HUGH  WORIHINOTOM. 
IX — CAMERON  PRIDE. 
ta.— ROSE  MATHER. 
i3-ETHELY>PS  MISTAKK. 
14.— MILLBAIfK- 

^i5.-ed;na  browning, 
17— edith  lyle. 


OnmiONB   OF  THE    PRESS. 

stJ'j**^  Holmes'  stories  are  univenwlly  read.  Hei-  admire»  are  numberieti. 
She  is  m  many  respecU  «rithout  a  rivaL-in  the  world  of  fiction.  Her  charactm 
are  always  «fe-Uke,  and  die  makes  th,«ialk  and  act  like  human  beings.  »ubjw:t 
to  the  tame  «notions,  «wayed  by  ihe  same  passion»,  and  actuated  by  the  same 
■ttotive.  whKh  are  common  among  m?n  and  women  of  evçry  day  existence,  ^t. 
tiolmea  i,  v«ry  happy  it  portraying  domettic  life.  ^LmA  youn*  peniM  her 
/SrVi*  iT"  *•«*«•»<.  ^  Ae  writoa^Jp  .  «yfc  fjl^can  «mprehend.-- 

'7  ''  ''^  ' ■     '  .     '^  *  '■  "    »      ' 

*Mrt.  Holme*-  Jtoriet.are  aU  of  V  domestte  charartier,  Md  Aeir  hteiest, 
tnerefore,  i«  not  so  idtense  as  if  they  were  more  bightyMasoned  wtth  sensational- 
««.  but  it  »  of  a  healthy  and  abiding  character.^  lAhnott  any  nei.  book  which  her 
puwisher  might  choose  to  announcè  from  her  peu  wouIdNet  àa  inl&édiate  and 
Smeral  r«ulmg.  Thp  intefest  in  her  taies  begins  at  «d^.  and  is  maiatained  to 
tue  doM.  Her  sentiments  <Ue  so  »ound,  her  syiapadiks  m  warm  aJd  «ady, 
Md  hct  knowledge  of  manners,  character,  and  the  varM  i»ddent.  of  ordinary 
Hfc  U  so  Aorough,  that  she  would  find  it  difficult  toiwrile  aay  other  diàn  aa 
esuiUent  taie  if  she  were  to  try  iW—BottoMBantur. 

*«.  Hobnet  b  very,ai.,i„g;  h^  a  qnick  anàlra't  Lise  of  humor,  a 
qrvpat^tK  tone,  a  perception  of  character.  and  a  dKiliar,  attractive  styk. 
piMMntly  ad«pted  to  the  compréhension  and  the  taste  of  that  large  cIsm  ci 
Aaiencan  readers  tôt  whom  fashionabie  noveb  and  idéal  fiintaùet  haï*  ao 
•*—  '-'Hmrf  T.  Tm^ktrmam,  7 


T^2^K^aé»  are  aU  bandsom^y  prin^  and  b«wn<^(i  Gioth.^«Étà 
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